


Your Skin Makes Me Cry

by soupypictures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Homophobic Language, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, discussions of rickyl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2019-10-25 09:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17722475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupypictures/pseuds/soupypictures
Summary: Paul Rovia hadn’t been the best student when he was in high school. As a loner in the late-nineties without a reliable adult guiding him, it was a miracle he hadn’t dropped out. He’d gotten his act together by senior year, but miserable freshman and sophomore years nearly forced him into a fifth year. Begging and pleading with his counselor got him enrolled in every night class and summer class available to graduate on time. He hadn’t walked across the stage, though — there was no one there to watch him.When he’d gotten this job two years ago he felt like a fraud. How could he possibly be qualified to work here? But he’d made his way, found his place, and he was damn good at his job. But he thought he knew every faculty and staff member by name. When he scrolled to see what teacher the chronic skipper in his caseload had for the single course he was passing and couldn’t call to mind the face that went with the name, he was surprised.Dixon? Who the fuck is that?---Paul Rovia is the case manager for the most difficult kids at the high school and Daryl Dixon has been teaching shop classes out in the annex for fifteen years. They meet. Sparks fly.





	1. Paul

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted as a WIP and is now COMPLETE!
> 
> As far as the particulars of the AU -- I am a teacher, though not in Georgia. I am drawing from my own experiences for a lot of the stuff set at the school, but if you had been shadowing me for my career you wouldn't find a single student or teacher to point to as anyone depicted in this fic. If you don't recognize the character's name, I've made them up whole-cloth. I did actually have to call the small engine repair teacher a few weeks ago, but he didn't answer and never called me back.
> 
> Thank you to my beta, C, for reading this through for me more than once despite not being in this fandom. I appreciate you!!!!! Get ready for more.

Paul Rovia hadn’t been the best student when he was in high school. As a loner in the late-nineties without a reliable adult guiding him, it was a miracle he hadn’t dropped out. He’d gotten his act together by senior year, but miserable freshman and sophomore years nearly forced him into a fifth year. Begging and pleading with his counselor got him enrolled in every night class and summer class available to graduate on time. He hadn’t walked across the stage, though — there was no one there to watch him.

When he’d gotten this job two years ago he felt like a fraud. How could he possibly be qualified to work here? But he’d made his way, found his place, and he was damn good at his job. But he thought he knew every faculty and staff member by name. When he scrolled to see what teacher the chronic skipper in his caseload had for the single course he was passing and couldn’t call to mind the face that went with the name, he was surprised.

_Dixon? Who the fuck is that?_

Part of the problem, he found, was that Daniel Johnson’s fourth period class was Engine Performance Concepts and Paul had no idea what that class was let alone where it would be located. He sighed, tired to his bones. They were only three weeks into the new semester and he was already aching for spring break. He wanted these kids to graduate, to stay enrolled in a traditional high school, but sometimes it felt like no one else gave a shit. This was his fifth phone call of his conference period and his chats with teachers hadn’t been exactly _uplifting_. They’d ranged from a distracted concern to outright antagonism, the latter something Paul could only begin to explain. His own high school experience as a student made more sense the longer he spent here as an adult. During his social work courses in grad school he’d found himself asking, “How did they _let_ that happen to me?” The answer, it appeared, was “very easily.”

He maneuvered through the phone directory to select the right extension and used his shoulder to keep the handset pressed to his ear while he organized the papers that had amassed on his desk. It was progress report time and that was why he was reaching out to the Engine Performance Concepts teacher on behalf of this kid. It was the only class he was passing, and he had an A. There had to be _something_ one of them could do to pull that performance out of the kid in his other classes.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up. “Dixon,” came the gruff voice.

“Hey, it’s Rovia. You got a sec?” He winced at the exhaustion he could hear in his own voice.

“Yeah, shoot.”

“I’m calling about a student in my caseload that you have in class right now, last name Johnson? He there today?”

“He’s here everyday. What’s up?”

“Well, we’re three weeks into the semester and after checking the system I can see that he’s not been present in a majority of his classes for most days of the week. Yours is the only class he’s passing and I thought we could meet to speak about him, maybe work with each other to see what works for him.”

“Danny’s _skipping_?”

Paul blinked. Not exactly the response he’d been prepared for. “Uh, yeah.”

“Danny! Git over here. Got your teacher on the phone,” Dixon bellowed. Muffled, Paul heard, _what teacher?_ “Mr. Rovia.” _Rovia? Who the fuck is Rovia?_ “Watch your mouth, he’s your case manager.” _Oh that’s the fag, fuck him._

Paul’s breath caught in his chest. That was a new one for this hell of a day.

Dixon cleared his throat. “Mr. Rovia, I’m going to deal with this student of ours. What class’s he got next?”

“He’s supposed to be in government next period, he’s got Mr. Greene.”

“Lucky for Danny, I’ve got lunch next so after I write him up for using a slur — _yes, that’s what that is and you know it, we talked about this last week_ — I’ll escort him up to your room for an apology and then on to Greene’s.”

“Thanks, Dixon.”

Later Paul was out in the hallway during the passing period as he always was. The more visible you were the less likely you’d have to break up a fight. He’d monitor this hallway until the late bell rang and then he’d make his rounds to check on all his caseload. It’d been a tough week. Mr. Greene’s daughter, Maggie Rhee, had gone on maternity leave before the winter holidays and they hadn’t been able to find a long-term substitute. One of his most challenging students was on her roster and had a good relationship with her. All the work they’d done the first semester was out the window and Paul had just yesterday chased after him after he’d eloped from the substitute of that day. Without Maggie around — and they’d become actual friends over the last two years — it felt like he was working in solitude with some of these kids.

This Dixon guy was the absolute highlight of his week so far mostly because he’d said he was going to write up a kid for using a slur. That should be the bare minimum to expect out of a co-worker, and yet Paul just felt grateful to have _someone_ on his side.

The hallway was nearly clear. Six doors down was Daniel Johnson, a male teacher trailing him by a few steps. Someone he’d never seen before, and he knew this because the man was every bit his type and if he _had_ seen him he would _definitely have remembered_. Taller than him by about three inches, his button-down’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off strong forearms, broad shoulders .... fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Maggie would be yelling at him to pick up his jaw.

The bell rang.

Paul turned his attention to his student and cocked an eyebrow.

“Mr. D. says I have to say I’m sorry. So, sorry.”

Dixon nudged the kid’s shoulder. “You c’n do better’n that,” he said quietly. “What’d I tell you?”

Daniel huffed. “Fine.”

“Look ‘im in the eye, son.”

_This will be a first_ , Paul thought. Daniel looked him dead in the eye.

“I apologize for skipping classes. I apologize for using a homophobic slur. I won’t do it again.”

Paul nodded and held out his hand to shake. “Apology accepted.” Daniel shook his hand, a bit of a limp fish, and started down the hall to Mr. Greene’s.

“Be back in a sec,” Dixon said over his shoulder, keeping up with Daniel. Paul could see Mr. Greene’s room from his office and watched the two of them get to class. There was a short conversation before Dixon headed back down the hall.

“Thank you for your help,” Paul greeted him, offering his hand. “Paul Rovia. I’m the case manager for the tricky cases.”

“Daryl Dixon.” Daryl’s grip was firm, warm, and dry. “Teach a bunch of shop classes out in the annex building. If it happens again, call me and I’ll handle it. Kid’s been in my classes for all four years and he’s better’n what he’s been givin’ you. I won’t tolerate that shit outta one a’ mine.”

“I don’t want to take up your lunch, but since you’ve had success with him I’d be interested in picking your brain about him.”

Daryl shrugged. “He likes workin’ with his hands. Shop classes lend themselves to that, dunno what you could do in history or English for it.”

Paul bit his lip in thought. “If nothing else, that’s a start. I’d better let you go. And thanks for taking it seriously. The write-up, I mean,” he added.

Daryl bit his lip and ducked his head. “Just doin’ my job, man.”

“And I’m telling you I appreciate that. Have a good one.”

“See you,” Daryl whipped off a lazy salute.

Paul allowed himself three seconds of watching Daryl walk down the hall before he took a deep breath and started his rounds. _Wow_.


	2. Daryl

It wasn’t often that Daryl Dixon had reason to venture to the main campus. He was just fine out in the annex, mostly by himself. He’d make a weekly trip into the front office to check on his box and collect his mail, say hi to the women in the attendance office, maybe go as far as the little police office close to the cafeteria to shoot the shit with Rick Grimes, though he’d rather visit him off-campus. But actually get into a hallway? He tried to avoid that as much as possible. Fewer people he ran into meant fewer conversations he was gonna have to have with people he didn’t care to know.

Normally he’d just threaten Danny Johnson if he didn’t get himself to class. He had a job lined up for the kid upon graduation and it could just as easily be given to someone else with one phone call. But something, he couldn’t pin down what, pushed him to get off his ass and escort Danny up to Rovia’s office.

Daryl got them to the door just as the bell rang and Rovia was leaning there in the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest and Daryl had a moment of _jesus fucking christ_. Part of it was that yeah, the man had a passing resemblance to the pictures of Jesus he’d seen his whole life, stuck up on the walls at his Granny’s, inside the churches on every corner down here (the only time he’d been in them was for weddings and that one time he thought he’d try his hand at begging for divine intervention but that hadn’t worked out). But the rest of it was something else, something he wasn’t sure how to even think about anymore. Last thing he needed was a fucking crush, is what he told himself.

After he babied Danny through a half-assed apology into one that would pass his muster and got him to his government class, he told Rovia that he’d handle Danny if any of that happened again. It made him a little sad that he was so earnest in his thanks for Daryl just doing his damn job. Like he hadn’t been around someone backing him up in awhile. Ain't right. Daryl hadn't done great his first time through high school, barely scraping by. There hadn't been a name for why the words wouldn't sit right when he tried to read, least not until he was taking a stab at night classes at the community college. He knew that there were shitty teachers and teachers with good hearts and intentions. Out in the annex he didn't see much of either, but it was clear Paul Rovia was one of the latter, surrounded by assholes.

On the way back to the annex he stopped by the police office, a small windowless room with two desks and two cops. Most of what the school cops had to deal with was drug-related, idiot kids bringing their supply on campus. Daryl himself had called Rick to his room on one occasion. He’d had a kid high on some kinda uppers trying to start a brawl in his garage and needed a hand wrangling him. He knocked on the open door and Rick looked up from his lunch.

“Oh hey, Dixon. How you doin’ today? What brings you all the way out here?”

Daryl slipped into the room and took a seat on the bench across from Rick’s desk. “Oh, doin’ all right.” Sometimes it almost knocked him sideways how different he was living now compared to his youth. Seventeen-year-old Daryl Dixon would have been sitting on this bench in cuffs. Today he sat here of his own free will because he was _friends with the cop_. “Took a kid up to Greene’s room, stopped by Rovia’s office. Ain’t nothin’, stretched my legs.”

“You were up with Rovia? _Jesus_?” Rick got that smirk on his face, the one he always got when he thought he had a lock on what Daryl was after.

“Yeah, that what they call him? How long’s he been teachin’ here?”

“Oh, three years tops? No! This is just his second year, he took over when they had to fire that guy over the summer because he was runnin’ around with that junior.” Rick leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up on his desk. “You want some tips? I’ve picked up some information over the years. Would have said something to you if you’d said you were lookin’.”

“Aw, fuck. We ain’t startin’ this shit again. I’ll be tellin’ Michonne you got tips for me in pickin’ up men at work, see what she says.”

“I did not keep it a secret from her that I was your wingman that time we went out in Atlanta, so good luck with that one.”

Daryl scoffed at Rick’s broad grin. “How’s the kids?”

Rick had a complicated family life, the kind of infidelity on his ex-wife Lori’s part that you only saw in movies. “Carl’s keepin’ up his grades, goin’ out for baseball this year, we’ll see how that sticks. Judy’s raisin’ hell, but so do all kids her age.” Little Judith Grimes bore no relation to Rick outside his last name, and Lori hadn’t let that be known until she was caught red-handed with Rick’s ex-partner and ex-best friend. Daryl had a lot of admiration for Rick keeping on friendly terms with Lori and raising Judy with her and Shane, even if he couldn’t understand a lick of why. Rick had a strong sense of family, something Daryl himself had never had access to. Michonne had come around not long after the divorce was finalized and swept Rick off his feet. What he deserved, really. In another life Daryl would have stuck his nose out and tried a little harder at discerning just _how_ comfortable Rick was with a man making his intentions clear, but as it was he’d still been guarding his broken heart.

“We should get together one of these nights, us and Michonne. Dinner, poker, I dunno. Been awhile.”

Rick’s demeanor shifted, considering. He’d been around when Daryl was at his lowest, knew how much he’d been pushing through since he stopped being a mechanic in his brother’s shitty little shop. He’d known him in another lifetime, it felt like. “We should. That’s a good idea, Daryl. I’ll talk to her.” Daryl said his goodbyes and made his rounds in the front office. He smiled at the attendance ladies and let the school receptionist chide him about not coming around more often. Then he made the hike back out to the annex.

In his room waited a peanut butter sandwich and a bag of chips. He ate alone, like he always did, and for the first time in a long time, he felt kinda lonely about it, like it wasn’t a chosen solitude. Like he'd rather be spending his time with another person. He shoved it out of his head, turned on the little radio by his desk, and thought about the bike he was fixing up at home, and about what kind of excuses he could make to get back to Rovia’s office without an invite.


	3. Paul

Progress report grades came and went and Paul slogged through each day one class period at a time. His runner had stopped running, but was now taking down whole classrooms with him. Documentation on that case was eating him alive. On Thursday after school his aide had to gently remind him to head to the monthly faculty meeting. Without Maggie around he had no one to sit with so he signed in once he got to the cafeteria and scanned the last few tables.

 _Daryl Dixon_.

It’d been a week since Daryl had come up to his office delivering his truant student right to his door for an apology. Paul had been trying to come up with _any_ excuse to call the man, or show up in his classroom, but his best excuse hadn’t missed a class since their talk and was even making up his late work without Paul having to pester him about it. Noting that Daryl was sitting all by himself, Paul strode over with more confidence than he had any right to and asked, “This seat taken?”

Daryl looked up from his notebook and motioned to the bench seat across from him. “Have at it.”

Paul set his bag on the table and took the seat. “Lesson planning? Or wait, do you lesson plan for shop classes?”

Daryl quirked a smile and Paul thought, _shit that’s cute_. “It’s still teaching, Rovia.”

“No of course, I didn’t mean—”

His hasty apology was interrupted by the principal’s voice leaking through the shitty cafeteria sound system. Daryl didn’t seem to take that as an indication to pay attention, so Paul rolled with it.

“Have you always been a teacher?” he found himself asking, like his mouth wasn't asking permission from his brain.

“Nah, this’s my second career.”

“What'd you do before?”

Daryl cocked an eyebrow at him. “I was a mechanic.”

“Hey, don’t say that like it’s a _given_. You could have been a million different things before you ended up here. In fact, I bet you can’t guess what I did before.”

Daryl leaned over his notebook and squinted at Paul. “Social worker, martial arts instructor on the side.”

Paul gaped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Was I right?”

“ _Yes_. How did you—”

“Turns out,” Daryl interrupted, “if a kid gets written up for a slur they don’t give him a disciplinary consequence. He gets sent to the counselor. And then the counselor calls me to let me know that’s how it’s gonna go down, and that he’s sorry. And this guy is chatty—”

Paul held up his hand to interrupt him. “It was Glenn, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, Glenn. Sounds like he knows you pretty well, Rovia.”

“His wife is my best friend, teaches U.S. History across the hall from my office. She’s on maternity leave right now.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why were you talking about me? With Glenn?”

Daryl coughed and looked away toward where the principal was still droning on. “Gave him some background on the write-up, and he just started jawin’ about you.”

“And you didn’t hang up.”

“Nah, guess I was curious.”

Paul forced himself to pay attention to the meeting for a few minutes while the tech liaison, Eugene Porter, introduced a new initiative for technology. Eugene had been wanting to start a tech mentor program and it was something they’d spoken about on occasion. Eugene had very little to do with the work Paul handled on a daily basis except their offices were right next to each other and Eugene was a bit of a chatterbox. Daryl cleared his throat and Paul turned back to him, raising an eyebrow.

“You said before that you looked Danny up in the system to see if he was goin’ to class.”

“Yeah?”

“Is that somethin’ I have access to, or is it just for you people to see?”

“Me people? What, you mean like the Special Education department?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“No, I was checking the same system you have access to.”

“Where do I go to see that?”

Paul smiled. “For that I’d need to give you a hands-on demonstration.”

Daryl squirmed on his bench seat. “Don’t wanna trouble you none.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

“Well, you know how to get out to the shop? S’long way from your office.”

“Actually ... no.”

Daryl tore off a sheet from his notebook and scribbled out a quick map. “Once you get in the building it’s easy, the room numbers aren’t as jacked up as they are here.” When the faculty meeting was over a few minutes later, Paul tucked the map into his pocket and promised to get to Daryl’s shop before three o'clock the next day.

 

* * *

 

The annex building felt like it was a mile away, but in reality, as the crow flies, it was probably only a quarter of a mile. That said, Paul had to walk through the after school crush in the hallways, trying not to bump into any students or accidentally jab someone in the side with his elbows. It was warm and smelled like teenaged boys mixed with the cloying perfume of teenaged girls and not for the first time he thought, _well, this is my life now_.

Checking his map for the room number, Paul walked down a long hallway in the annex heading toward an open door with music blasting out of it. He smiled and grabbed onto the door jamb, swinging into the room. It looked more like a classroom than he was expecting, rows and columns of about twenty desks with a smartboard on one wall. Paul wagered a guess it’d never been turned on. There was a door on the other side of the room that looked, if what he could see through the window was indicative, like a garage. No students, so he grinned at Daryl sitting behind the desk and shouted, “Hello!” over the music.

Daryl whipped a hand out and hit the stop button on a cassette player and that startled a laugh out of Paul. “Sorry, Rovia. When the kids leave I have to wind down.”

“No trouble. Grunge suits you. This your teacher computer?” He motioned to the desk.

“Yeah, have at it.” Daryl stood from his seat and motioned for Paul to take it.

Paul sat down behind the desk and reached for the mouse, wiggled it, and the screen woke up from sleep. Paul blinked at what he was seeing. The cassette player really should have been his clue. “Holy shit, Dixon.”

“What?”

“This computer is running Windows 98.” Daryl just stared at him, uncomprehending. “This operating system is twenty years old.”

“That why it takes half an hour to boot up?”

“That’s why you probably can’t do _anything_ on it.”

“Can you fix it? Make it work better?”

“Can I fix — no. I can’t fix it. You need a new computer.”

“I don’t want a new computer —”

“If it’s running Windows 98, yes you do. Trust me.”

Daryl sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “How do I get a new computer? I have a hard enough time gettin’ new equipment, and I can’t pay for that outta the program budget.”

Paul clicked around on the desktop and opened up Outlook, which immediately went into set-up, running slower than a snail. “Well, this gives me an idea.”

“What’s that you opened?”

“This, Daryl Dixon, is how you’re supposed to be checking your e-mail. Daily. And it looks like you’ve never done it. Do you use your phone for e-mail?”

Daryl shook his head and Paul took his hand off the mouse and swiveled the chair around to face him. “Yesterday at the faculty meeting Eugene was talking about starting a tech mentor program, where more technologically comfortable teachers can mentor less technologically comfortable teachers in how best to use technology in their classrooms. He’s been talking to me about it for months, finally got it approved. All we have to do is go to the tech room and I sign a paper saying I’ll help you, and when I tell them you’ve got an operating system older than all our students they’ll have to upgrade you because you’re putting in the effort to join the twenty-first century. Literally.”

“Sounds like then you gotta teach me shit.”

“Well yeah. But what you should really be concerned about is that you’d actually have to do shit like check your e-mail. If I taught you all this stuff, would you actually use it?”

“What would you teachin’ me shit look like?”

“I’d help you get all your programs set up, and then probably ... once a week or so? I’d teach you something new? Like PowerPoint, how to film your lessons in class so kids who miss can catch up.”

Daryl looked thoughtful at the last bit. Paul filed that away. “Alright. We could do that. But what do you get outta this? It ain’t gonna be easy teachin’ me about computers.”

And Paul was pretty sure that Daryl was right, but what he wasn’t worried about was the time commitment. There was something about Daryl Dixon that had Paul trying to figure out every way he could to put himself in his presence as much as possible. If that meant patiently explaining to him how to navigate through his email, he’d do it. “I like a challenge,” was what he said out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legitimately found a computer _in my hallway_ running Windows XP, so it's entirely within the realm of the possible that some teacher who can get away with not ever using a computer is harboring one running Windows 98. (That same teacher with the Windows XP computer also said, when asked if he had a blu-ray player, "Is that like DirectTV?")


	4. Daryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions ARD meetings. If you're unfamiliar with the term, an ARD (Admission, Review, Dismissal) meeting is where students are admitted into the special education program, have their IEP (individual education plan) reviewed, or dismissed from (this is most rare) the special education program. Each student in special education has at least one ARD per school year -- usually the review. If a student transfers in from another school district a transfer ARD will be scheduled, and then later they have to have a review if they didn't have it at their previous school. Attending an ARD is the student, parent, case manager (this would be Paul in this story) or other special education teacher, a general education representative or teacher, an assistant principal .... I think that's the bare minimum. I haven't researched how ARDs are different in Georgia compared to the state I live in, but as special education is a federal program I can't imagine it would be drastically different. (This is probably more information than you need, but feel free to hmu at yessoupy on tumblr if you need/want more info!)

Walking down to the tech guy’s office the next Monday after school, Daryl felt more outta place than he had in a long time. In his world, if something didn’t work you fixed it. All of his job was mechanical. He had a mind for it, his brother used to say. He was always taking things apart and putting ‘em back together, figuring out how machines worked. He hadn’t grown up with computers, only had to work on an old Apple at the shop that hardly did anything with one of those printers spitting out paper with the holes punched in the side. He’d been embarrassed when Paul had sat there in front of the computer in his classroom and said it was old. Daryl felt that way too, too old for this world, for being where he was in his life. Too old to be this lonely, sometimes. But that way of thinking only made him angry again. He was angry at God for the trick He’d played, letting Daryl get a taste of love and feeling like he belonged somewhere before taking it away. Angry at God too for provin’ his daddy right.

Over the weekend he’d gone out with Rick and Michonne and had listened to Rick tell all these stories about Paul. How, “you’d be surprised how strong he is, wouldn’t guess a man his size could restrain that Jessie kid last year but I’ll be damned if it weren’t textbook perfect and effective.” Rick had worked with him a lot since Paul was the guy in charge of all the kids who had emotional or behavior problems that kept them from being able to learn real easy. Daryl got a lot of those kids in his shop classes but in his fifteen years on campus he hadn’t had reason to have to call their case manager on them. Mostly Rick wasn’t arresting any kids that Paul had to work with but he got called a lot anyway because he was real gentle when the situation called for it and didn’t take any cursing to heart.

Daryl knocked on the open door when he got to Paul’s office. He was alone and the place looked like a tornado had run through it. “Ignore this, I have about five ARDs in the next two weeks, the paperwork is going to kill me.” Daryl looked around at the walls, taking in this space where Paul spent his time when he wasn’t restraining kids or talking them off the ledge (sometimes literally — Rick had said something about a kid up on the balcony ready to jump down to the first floor). There was a rainbow flag tacked up over his desk. Daryl had known because of what Rick had said when they were out for drinks, that Paul never tried to hide and managed to avoid any bullshit about it because he was so good at his job, but it was another thing to see those bright colors just out there for everyone to see.

“Problem?” Paul asked, a hard edge to his voice.

Daryl had been caught staring at the flag. Fuck, now Paul probably thought he was some ignorant hick homophobe. “No, ‘course not.” He cleared his throat. “Me too. Nice to have some company, ‘s all.” He wanted to punch himself, wanted to slink away out of sheer embarrassment. He hated every time he had to do this. In his head he knew that Paul wouldn’t think less of him, but he couldn’t help but think he didn’t exactly look like he belonged with all the other people who could put rainbow flags up over their desks. Only places he ever felt like he really _belonged_ was out on his bike or in the shop. Only places he felt like he belonged anymore, anyway.

Paul didn’t say any of the worst things he could have said. Daryl had heard them all from well-meaning people who didn’t realize how all of those phrases cut him in different ways. “Oh, I could tell,” was just as bad as, “Oh, I never would have guessed,” if for different reasons. Paul just smiled and said, “Thank you for telling me.” Then they walked together the short distance down the hall to Eugene’s office where Paul told him to let him doing the talking.

It didn’t take long for Daryl to understand why Paul had said that. Eugene was a bit much. Daryl didn’t understand most of what was coming out of his mouth not because the man was talking too technical for him, but because he used metaphors so extensively Daryl was having a hard time figuring out what he was trying to say. They got their paperwork signed and made an appointment for Eugene to come out to the shop the next day and install a new computer. He hadn’t believed Paul when he’s said it was running that old program, so Paul showed him pictures he’d took on his phone. Eugene looked like someone had shown him a rare antique or something. Daryl shifted uncomfortably again, feeling a little like the butt of a joke.

Paul took him back to his office after, “I need to put this in my calendar or I’ll forget,” and Daryl hovered at the door, unsure if they were done and he should go or if he should stick around. “Take a seat,” Paul said from his desk, clicking around in a program. “You’re going to have to get used to this program soon anyway, come look.” He sat down on a student chair with wheels on it and rolled over next to Paul. “This is the icon for Outlook, what you’re gonna use to check your email every morning. Eugene will pin it to the taskbar at the bottom so you don’t have to go searching for it. Over here is the calendar, when you click it’ll show you everything you’re supposed to be at. I’m sure you attend ARDs every so often? Usually they send email invites.”

“Maria knows I don’t use the computer, she just calls me and I write it down on a sticky. Maybe twice a year I go to one of those, usually when I’m helpin’ the kid get a job.”

“The nice thing about Outlook is it reminds you when you have a meeting.” Paul clicked a few things and typed very quickly, narrating how he was making reminders for himself about Daryl’s new computer. “I can come by after school to show you what you really need to know to get started. Does that work for your schedule?” Daryl nodded without even thinking about it, figuring anything else he could find a way to move if he had to. Paul clicked a few more times and exited out of the program. He spun a quarter turn in his office chair to face Daryl. “So tomorrow after work I’m meeting up with Maggie and Glenn, and this English teacher — Peletier — at this restaurant in Senoia and Maggie is bringing Hershel. Her baby, not her father Hershel Greene.” He blinked at Daryl.

_Was this really happening?_ “There a question in there somewhere?” he asked to cover up his surprise and sudden case of nerves.

Paul’s cheeks got pink. “Want to join us?”

“Sure,” Daryl answered before his brain could talk him out of it. He knew Carol Peletier, knew her almost as well as he knew Rick but couldn’t manage to see her as often as he’d like. They’d been real close when they first started teaching fifteen years ago, when she was still with Ed. Ed was a lot like Daryl’s daddy had been and Carol had left him when he got locked up for assault on some guy at a bar. Ed hadn’t made it outta prison alive, killed himself only a year in. Carol had been real torn up about that since her daughter Sophia was gonna grow up without a father but Daryl hadn’t let her keep on like that. “No daddy is better’n one who hits her momma.” Last few years she’d been with a real good man, a zookeeper in Atlanta. Knowing she was being taken care of Daryl hadn’t checked in with her in awhile. It’d be nice to see her.

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Got no plans so might as well. Plus, I like babies.”

Paul had smiled at that and got out his phone. “Alright, Mr. Dixon. Tell me your number so I can text you the details.”


	5. Paul

The little restaurant was as crowded as it usually was on a Friday in the early evening — which was to say it was about half-full. Maggie was already there at the head of a table, waving Hershel’s little baby hand at him as he entered the restaurant. Glenn was beside her, both of them glowing, and their little nuclear family unit was like a beacon of light. Carol Peletier, senior-level English teacher, was occupying the seat next to Glenn. Paul had gotten to know her this school year because she had one of his tougher cases. Lizzie had taken a shine to Carol and only wanted to please her so they’d been working together to see how they could translate that into Lizzie’s other classes. Somewhere along the way they’d started heading toward being real friends.

When he got to the table Maggie held up Hershel to him without Paul having to ask. Hershel’s warm weight in his arms and his little almond eyes blinking up at him immediately soothed him. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?” Hershel snagged Paul’s finger and brought it to his mouth. “Oh no, honey, you don’t want to do that.” He wriggled his finger away and soothed Hershel’s annoyance with a kiss to his hair. The bell over the door rang to signal a new patron and Paul turned to see Daryl stepping through the threshold. He grinned and kind of held Hershel up, like _here, I promised a baby and here he is!_ “I forgot to tell you guys, I invited Daryl, he teaches shop classes out in the annex. I lured him here with the baby,” he stage whispered as Daryl stepped up to him.

“Daryl Dixon does love a baby,” Carol pronounced, confusing Paul as Daryl leaned into his space to take a look at Hershel.

“He’s real cute,” Daryl commented, running the back of his finger down Hershel’s arm and clucking at him like a mother hen.

“Thank you,” Maggie responded. Like her voice had triggered his instincts, Hershel stirred and started mewling, his little round mouth gawping like a fish.

“You know Carol?” Paul asked, ignoring the infant’s wiggling in his arms as Carol stood up to catch Daryl in a quick hug.

“Carol and I go way back,” Daryl responded. “We both started teachin’ the same year. She and her class got trapped in the garage that year we had the tornado come through.”

“Oh, I think he’s hungry, Maggie,” Carol said. Paul looked down at the baby and sure enough, it did look like he was about to burst into tears.

“Hand him over here.” Glenn was digging in the diaper bag and pulled out a blanket for Maggie. It was only a few moments before Hershel was under the blanket in Maggie’s arms, the wet sucks of a nursing infant muffled beneath the fabric. Maggie looked more relaxed that he’d ever seen her before and Paul felt an unexpected pang of envy for her little family. This was a picture he’d never been part of before.

“So Paul, how’s it going?” Maggie raised her eyebrows meaningfully and Paul knew she wasn’t asking about work. They had a rule about that anyway, no discussing work outside the walls of the school building. Paul was grateful for that as he already had a difficult time maintaining a healthy work/life balance. It was tough to leave his students’ issues at the school. He knew some of them went home to shittier situations than even he’d lived through.

Paul leaned in close so only she could hear his response. “I don’t want to jinx anything, but this might be going somewhere.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Spent a couple hours this week after work helping him out with his new computer. I’m going to ask him out after this. Glenn was talking to him about me, and he was listening,” Paul hinted, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Maggie bit her lip and cut her eyes over to Glenn who was engaged in conversation with Daryl and Carol. “I could talk to Glenn, if you want. See if he would approve.” She inclined her head toward Carol. “Looks like Carol’s friendly with him. That goes a long way.”

“Nothing invasive, Mags, just if there are any red flags.”

“Has he said something that worries you or—”

“No! Not at all. It’s just … I don’t exactly trust my own judgment. I don’t want to fuck this up if it could be something real.”

Maggie’s eyes softened. “Oh Paul. I’m so happy for you.”

He rolled his eyes at her, at himself for even talking like this. “I said, I don’t want to jinx this—”

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Carol interrupted.

Paul leaned back guiltily, feeling like a gossiping student caught out by his teacher. Carol had that kind of voice on her and didn’t seem to be able to turn it off. “Just catching up on Hershel’s milestones,” he lied, picking up the menu. “I don’t know why I bother looking at this thing, I get the same thing every time.”

“What’s good?” Daryl asked, looking his menu over.

“Don’t ask him, he’s so boring. He gets the grilled cheese and tomato soup no matter what time of year it is.”

“Don’t _judge_ me, Glenn. I’m making up for the childhood I never had.” Paul said it flippantly, but there was a kernel of truth to it. “Anyway, Daryl, since you asked — they have good sandwiches. Can’t go wrong with a sandwich.”

The server took their orders and their drinks came, then their food, and conversation flowed throughout. Paul’s favorite part was watching Carol and Daryl interact. It was clear they’d been through something together, and more than just that tornado. He watched them and wondered what it could be. Paul had a good instinct for people who’d grown up like he had, people who’d spent a good chunk of their childhood in less than ideal circumstances. He thought that could be part of their connection, but he hoped it wasn’t. Maybe they’d just shared a difficult student, forging that bond between beleaguered colleagues that Paul knew all too well.

Like he was doing with Carol this year, that was how he’d gotten to know Maggie his first year teaching. He’d gotten dumped in the deep end right off three years at the county doing social work and Chad had stretched to the limit his ability to cope. He was verbally abusive and had the knack for finding everyone’s soft spot. The only teacher he couldn’t set off was Maggie, and Paul had gone to _her_ to figure out how to work with his own charge. No one else that year gave him half as much trouble as Chad and most of Paul’s time had been spent wrangling him first out of class and then in his own office trying to figure out what made him tick. Maggie had been a lifesaver and their frequent informal meetings had served as a foundation for a blossoming friendship.

And now Paul sat at this table as Maggie’s “if all of my family and Glenn and I die in a crash, will you raise Hershel?” caliber of friend. Paul supposed that when she sat down with him to ask that question that he’d been labeled her _best_ friend, at least outside of her husband. The question itself had terrified him, but the possibility of that situation becoming reality had seemed so remote as to make it easy for him to say yes.

Carol had a daughter, Paul knew, and he wondered if she thought of Daryl the same way that Maggie thought of himself. He shook his head at himself, already leaping several steps ahead of where he should be. Thinking about kids and family and other things he never had in his life. He always did this, and it always bit him in the ass. Alex, the last guy he’d seen for more than a couple weeks, he’d said that Paul was too _much_ sometimes. He’d kept asking for space, for Paul to _lay off the theatrics_ and stop being so _over the top_. He moved too fast and wanted more than Alex had been willing to give. Alex wanted sex, someone to lay around on the couch with him after his shifts watching Netflix who’d suck him off and go home for the night. Paul had wanted everything, and so they’d gone their separate ways, Paul with a broken heart not for Alex but for thinking he might never get what he wanted.

_Cool your jets_ , he told himself, his eyes on Daryl’s profile as the man smiled at something Carol said. He had a fussy Hershel in his arms, the only adult at the table finished with his food. Paul’s heart twisted in his chest at the sight, watched Hershel settle in against Daryl’s chest and then drop off into sleep. God.

_Don’t fuck this up_.


	6. Daryl

Dinner was nice. He got to hold the baby, even, when Glenn went to the bathroom and Maggie’s dessert arrived. Hershel was a good baby, didn’t seem to mind that Daryl was a stranger. It’d been awhile since he’d held anybody this young—Judith had been the last one and she was four years old now. When Glenn came back he kept holding on, ignoring Carol’s knowing looks from across the table. He knew that in her head she had him and Paul married off and adopting babies, bringing them back to a little house with a white picket fence. He couldn’t say that _wasn’t_ something he maybe wanted someday, but it’d been a long time since he thought that was a realistic desire. It’d been a long time since he’d allowed those thoughts into his head and nurtured them.

With Paul in conversation with Maggie, Glenn chatting with Carol, and Hershel dozed off in his arms, Daryl let his mind wander off. For ten years he’d been living on a tight circuit. He went to work, taught kids about engines and car repair, and helped them get jobs after they graduated. When he wasn’t at up at the school he was at his house, working on his motorcycle. He’d go ride by himself out on the country roads. Every once in awhile he’d meet up with Rick and they’d have drinks at a bar, get Michonne to drive them home. He’d spent more than a handful of nights on their living room couch. It wasn’t living, what he’d been doing, just surviving. He knew that. The guilt had been eating at him steadily, the promise he’d made to move on and live life to the fullest falling unfulfilled. Staring down at Hershel, though, the warmth he felt at this table between everyone … it almost felt like the future he’d imagined for himself twenty years ago. The one he thought he’d have a real shot at getting before it was snatched away.

 

* * *

 

Outside the restaurant Paul followed him to his bike. “Somehow I’m not surprised in the slightest,” he commented as Daryl swung his leg over to straddle the seat.

“You ride?” Daryl held his helmet in his hands, nervous now that they were alone, all their friends loaded up in cars and on their ways home.

Paul shook his head. “Not really. I have before. Dated a guy who had this vintage Japanese bike? He was a dick. Took me out on it a few times though, that was the highlight of our time together.” Paul shifted his weight around and started working his thumb into his opposite hand. “Look, I need to know if I’m barking up the wrong tree, if you know what I mean.”

“Gonna stop askin’ me questions if I say you are?” Daryl stalled.

Paul grasped his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. “Well no, but I won’t ask you this next question specifically.”

Daryl looked down at his lap and shifted his weight on the bike. “If you were barkin’ up the wrong tree I think you’d know for sure by now.” He _wanted_ , for the first time in a long time, and he owed himself to at least see where it could go, push himself out there and take a damned risk for once. If he turned Paul down he’d have Carol to answer to, anyway, and he didn’t ever look forward to those conversations.

When Paul smiled at him his whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, so what’s that next question?”

“Thought maybe we could go out somewhere, just the two of us? No babies, no friends.”

“Where were you thinkin’?”

“To be honest, I didn’t have a clue but seeing you on that bike ... you want to just take me for a ride?”

Daryl scoffed and could feel his face heat up in a blush. He could tell that Paul fully intended the innuendo—there was no other explanation for that smirk. _Lord, this one was gonna be a handful_. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek, thinking about his weekend and the shit he had to do. _Fuck it, might never get another chance like this_. “I’m free Sunday.”

“Sunday’s perfect.”

“You got a jacket to ride in?” Paul shook his head. “‘Kay. I’ll bring you one. Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at nine.”

 

* * *

 

The nostalgia hit Daryl hard as he rode into the parking lot, navigating between the buildings to find Paul’s. He’d lived in this same complex years ago, before he bought his house. They’d been the worst years of his life outside of the ones he was left alone in the trailer with Will Dixon. He tried to shake off that feeling as he pulled into an empty space and killed the engine, slipped the helmet off his head. He sent a text to let Paul know he’d arrived then secured his phone in his shirt pocket and zipped up his jacket. He pulled his gloves off and laid them across the handlebars as he waited for Paul to meet him.

He dismounted the bike when Paul bounded down the stairs, rested his helmet on the seat. All those malingering feelings dissipated at the sight of him. Daryl did a quick inventory of his attire—jeans, good. Boots, good. Long-sleeved shirt, good. Only thing not ride-ready was his hair, free around his shoulders. That was just a tangled mess waiting to happen. “Am I dressed okay?” Paul asked, holding out his arms and turning around in a circle. If Daryl checked out his ass on his way around no one was there watching to point it out.

“Clothes are good, but your hair’s gonna be a mess. C’mere.” Daryl yanked the extra jacket out of the saddlebag and dug around at the bottom through the odds and ends he knew were in there. He felt the rubber band under his fingers and pulled it out, slid it over his wrist. “Turn around.”

Paul cocked his head in curiosity but turned around without question. Daryl rested his hands on Paul’s shoulders to announce his touch. “Gonna braid this, alright?”

“Oh. Of course.”

Realizing that he’d just been bossing Paul around he stopped for a second. “Unless you wanna do it yourself?” Daryl hoped not. He’d been wanting to feel for himself if those waves were as soft as they looked.

“Have at it. I don’t have a tender head or anything.”

Braids were easy. Daryl had little practice with Judith’s fine curls so Paul’s hair was easy for him to twist around into a plait. The strands were silky soft and smelled like some kind of flowers. He secured the end of the braid with the rubber band and stepped back when he was done. “Alright. Now, here’s the jacket, tuck your hair down the back if you want. There’s some gloves in the pockets and I got your helmet, too.” As Paul slid on the jacket another hit of nostalgia swept over him, this one like a fist to the gut. It fit just right like he knew it would. Daryl Dixon sure had a type. He tried not to think too hard on that.

Paul waggled those eyebrows at him as he zipped up the jacket and pulled on the gloves. “Am I dressed to your satisfaction?”

Daryl looked him up and down and nodded. It was kind of a mindfuck, Paul standing there in that jacket blinking up at him with those eyes. The grey of his shirt pulled them more to the blue of the spectrum than the green he’d been thinking they were until now. “Helmet next.” He handed it over and Paul put it on. They settled onto the bike, Paul with his hands just lightly on Daryl’s hips. “You can hold on more’n that,” he said so Paul could hear. “You ready?”

Paul grabbed onto him tighter. “Take me for a ride, then.”

Daryl let his mind empty out once they got on the road. It didn’t get too far away with Paul’s arms tight around his waist. His body was a warm weight against his back and the familiarity of it felt like pressing on a bruise left by a lover’s fingertips. This feeling was his home. Out on the road on his bike with a handsome man holding onto him and trusting him to keep him safe … he hadn’t realized just how much he missed it. Truth was, he probably hadn’t _allowed_ himself to feel that sense of longing.

He didn’t want to push it too far on their first ride, not until he knew how much Paul could handle, so he drove them out about forty-five minutes before pulling into a diner at a truck stop for a late breakfast.

“I feel more like a badass in this moment than at any other point in my life,” Paul reported once Daryl had parked at the diner.

“Don’t you know kung fu or somethin’?” Daryl asked over his shoulder, pulling off his own helmet as Paul slid off the bike, using Daryl’s shoulders to steady himself.

Paul winked at him. “Or something, but fully seventy-five percent of why I feel so badass is because of how _you_ look.” He smirked and turned on his heel to open up the door to the diner. “Come on, Mr. Dixon. I’m famished.”


	7. Paul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an ARD meeting. I'd like to reiterate that all situations in the school setting are fictional. (I feel like this should go without saying but just in case.)

All the way back to his apartment complex Paul mulled over the conversation they’d had over lunch. It’d been stilted to start, neither of them quite knowing where to begin, when Daryl had blurted out, “So how’d you end up in the EBD department?”

Paul had taken a deep breath and laid it all out there on the table. Daryl couldn’t know how personal a question that was, not really, but Paul wanted Daryl to know. If this was going to go anywhere, he had to fight his instinct to keep his past to himself. He told Daryl about his childhood, growing up in a group home and having too many issues to get adopted out. How he graduated high school by the skin of his teeth and only because his counselor took him under her wing. Finally getting his bachelor’s degree after ten years of bouncing around and getting in a semester here and there, teaching martial arts and self-defense courses to get by. His master’s degree went by in a blur, a sense of purpose finally settled into him—he wanted to help those kids who’d been like him. He’d beat the odds and he wanted to help others do the same.

Daryl had listened raptly and asked all the right questions. One comment had stuck with him and was rattling around in his skull as they rode back. “Think I’d’ve had a lot easier time of it with a teacher like you around.” He didn’t expand on that and Paul didn’t feel like it was the right time to press him, but he held on a little tighter as the cold wind whipped past them.

He didn’t want to let go when they finally pulled up in front of his building. If he didn’t have hours of paperwork to catch up on for the week’s ARDs he’d have insisted on a movie, or dinner, or something else to keep Daryl in his presence. There’d be time for that later, he told himself, reluctantly removing himself from Daryl and sliding off the bike. He took off the helmet and pulled the rubber band off, shaking his hair out. He ran his free hand through his hair and offered the helmet to Daryl with the other. “I had a wonderful time with you,” he said sincerely.

Daryl dismounted the bike and hung the helmets off the handlebars. “Lemme walk you to your door, hang on.”

Paul’s heart jumped in his chest. “Okay, yeah.”

When they reached his door Paul started to shrug off the jacket but Daryl stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You hang onto that. For next time.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Paul promised. Daryl moved in closer and this was a physicality that Paul knew. He’d been hoping for this, wondering if Daryl’s easy affection that he’d witnessed with Carol and Hershel would extend to Paul himself. He tipped up his face to take the offered kiss, brief and chaste and more than he’d been expecting but definitely not as much as he wanted. He could do with hours of this and _more_.

“Wanna keep seein’ you,” Daryl murmured, still close, and the gravel of his voice touched off something in Paul’s core.

“I want to make sure we’re on the same page,” Paul breathed, his eyes stuck on the hollow of Daryl’s throat. “I want to invite you in but I can’t because I have work to do.”

Daryl leaned back but kept his hand on Paul’s waist, squeezed a little. “What page do you want me on? Coming in or respecting that you got work to do?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Daryl cocked an eyebrow at him. “Make the decision for me.”

“In that case, you better get that paperwork done. There’s a deadline on that. I’ll still be around after tomorrow.”

Paul pressed his hands against Daryl’s chest. “Alright, get going or I’ll change my mind.”

Daryl pressed another kiss to Paul’s mouth and pushed off the door frame, out of Paul’s space. “See you. Good luck tomorrow.” Paul watched him down the hallway, his broad-shouldered figure cutting a pleasing silhouette against the weak February sun. Paul bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment before shaking himself out of it and unlocking the door to his apartment.

 

* * *

 

He loved his job. He really did. Working with the kids nearly everyone else had written off as unmanageable, coaxing out of them smiles and laughs, figuring out how to get them wanting to achieve … all of that was rewarding. In helping them he felt like he was helping his own inner child who’d been an orphan by nine years of age, unable to find another person who wanted him or even wanted to help until he was near adulthood.

But he could do without all the meetings. He could do without the reminders that some of these kids had no one. Sure, a handful of his caseload had parents who showed up to every meeting and listened and asked all the right questions. And others had parents who genuinely cared, but who had so much else going on that it wasn’t possible to take off work in the middle of the day to come down to school and listen to teachers read through a script and decide, ultimately, not to change anything. But too many of his charges were just like he was, ultimately. The root cause of their emotional or behavioral issues were plain to see, if anyone bothered to look.

One meeting that Monday was particularly tough. Calder sat next to him at the conference table, his eyes on his lap and quietly seething. He had a parent who had given Paul permission to have the meeting without her. Paul sacrificed his typing speed to keep a hand on the boy’s arm, a technique he’d found would help to ground him. When asked by the diagnostician for his update, Paul turned to Calder. “I think we can agree that Mrs. Rhee being on leave has been a disruption to your routine. I’ve sought a long-term substitute to finish out the last month, but it’s been difficult to find someone.” This was what he’d already told Calder he would say. To the rest of the committee, he added, “Stability and predictability is important for Calder’s success. Despite his setbacks recently I believe we can get him back on track.”

The assistant principal looked up from her computer. Paul could see in the reflection of her glasses that she wasn’t reading through Calder’s file, or keeping up with the meeting. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the time to wait for Mrs. Rhee to come back. Calder’s disruptions have caused other students to lose learning time. I think it’s time to bring the county in for a review.”

Paul’s breath caught. He could hear Calder’s deep breathing increase in pace, hissing in and out. “Excuse us for a moment.” He turned fully to speak into Calder’s ear. He counted to ten for him and spoke in an even tone despite how _pissed_ he was that this fucking bureaucrat was trying to erase this boy instead of try everything to help him here, where he had some measure of support. Calder’s fury eased, transferring his tense grip on the arm of the chair to a racquetball, offered to him surreptitiously under the table. Paul turned back to Mrs. Braun. “We are not at that point with Calder. We’d be skipping a few steps if we did that. It seems that his worst events are taking place with substitutes, people who don’t know him. We can take him into segregation for those periods. Let’s try that before we get the county involved. That should be a last resort.”

Mrs. Braun was clearly unhappy with Paul’s pronouncement, but there was nothing she could say. He was right. The meeting rolled on and Paul caught up with the minutes. They sped through the last bit of the meeting and Paul was on autopilot. Calder’s tension had eased almost entirely once he’d put Mrs. Braun in her place, merely holding the ball instead of squeezing it with all his might. “Anything else you want to add, Calder?” Paul asked before he sent the paper around the table for the committee’s signatures. He always asked his students this question, even though he knew the committee didn’t see the point. Usually, the kids said no, just as eager to end the process as the adults. But this time, Calder looked up from his lap and straight into Paul’s eyes. “Go on,” he said, encouraging him to speak.

“I’m not goin’ there. Not to that school.” Paul heard the words he wasn’t saying, the ones he knew better than to say in front of all these other adults: _I’d rather die_.

Mrs. Braun began to respond, but Paul cut her off with a raised hand and a stern look. “We’re going to work together to make sure you don’t have to go. We’ll make it through this last month without Mrs. Rhee, and once your routine is back in place I’m sure you’ll feel better.” Calder nodded. Under the disapproving looks of Mrs. Braun and the diagnostician, Paul added their exchange to the minutes and sent the paper around the table. He was last to sign and stood up with Calder. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to walk Calder to his next class. I’ll be back in time for the next meeting.” Shutting the lid on his laptop he took the ball when Calder offered it and followed the boy out of the room and down the hall to his office. Paul opened the closet door and pulled out the throw pillow he kept especially for these moments. Calder put his face to it and _screamed_. The muffled sound filled the room but didn’t echo down the hallways like it would without muffling. The racquetball and breathing techniques and everything else only went so far. Before he took Calder back to class he had to let the boy get out the last of his frustration.

It went on for only a minute and it was intermittent at that, but a minute of screaming can feel like ten. Paul took the pillow back when he was done and placed it with the ball on Calder’s shelf. “Ready?” Calder nodded, and they walked through the halls to Calder’s math class. Charge delivered, Paul took a moment to check his phone for the time and messages. He had one from Daryl, a short _you survivin_ sent about fifteen minutes ago. He smiled. _Thought of what we could do on our next date_ , he typed back. Immediately he got a response. _What’s that_?

_Know a photographer who’s got a gallery opening this Friday. Her subject matter is … unique. I think you’ll enjoy it._

Daryl’s reply made him laugh out loud.

_Long as there’s no naked ladies in the forest._

Paul promised him that there was no chance of that before ducking back into the conference room. One more ARD and he was home free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started posting this fic, this chapter was the last one I had written. Currently, I have three more completed chapters and two off to beta tonight. Thank you all for the kudos and the kind comments, for subscribing and bookmarking, it has kept me motivated! <3


	8. Daryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is two days early because I just couldn't help myself. I have 4 more work days to get through until my Spring Break so leave me some comments to read to keep me sane! I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This is the chapter where the rating changes to M.

Daryl had spent more time than usual figuring out what to wear. He finally called up Rick for help and he’d just handed the phone over to Michonne. She looked up some stuff on the computer about the venue and told him that he’d be fine in his black jeans and one of his button-down shirts. “And wear your leather jacket, you’ll fit right in.” Daryl couldn’t figure how a leather jacket would make him fit in at an art gallery, of all places, but she was looking at the featured artist’s work and Paul had said he’d like what was there.

He finished off some cold pasta dish he’d cooked up for himself the day before, loaded up the dishwasher and set it to run. Two days ago he’d come home and noticed how fucking dusty everything was and found himself cleaning like the queen herself was coming to visit. There was a real good chance that Paul was gonna see the inside of this place if things went well at the gallery and Daryl didn’t want to be worrying about what kinda nonsense was hiding in the couch.

Paul picked him up just before eight, driving an early 80’s Chevy Silverado in some puke green kinda color. It was beat up but running fine. If Daryl was being honest, he was kind of expecting Paul to own some kind of electric car to match his hippie looks.

“Don’t worry, she’s in fine shape,” Paul informed him as he slid into the passenger’s seat. The cab had a bench seat and possibilities flitted through his brain before he set them down. Kissing Paul against his apartment door hadn’t been near enough for Daryl and it’d taken everything in him not to follow him into his apartment. Most people who knew him probably thought he’d been celibate the last ten years but that wasn’t the case. He just hadn’t felt like anyone was worth really getting to know—not beyond a couple hours at the end of the night, anyway. “Figured you for a hybrid at least,” he said, buckling in.

Paul laughed and threw the truck into reverse. “First thing I ever owned, this truck. I’ll keep her going until she finally gives up the ghost for good.”

Paul briefed him about the artist they were going to see as they made the half-hour drive to the gallery. “Enid used to be on my caseload when I was a social worker. She’s at school now for art, one of my success stories.” Paul told him how he’d helped her apply to school and for financial aid, drove her out to visit the schools to pick out which one she liked best. “She’s a photographer, but she doesn’t take pictures of … pretty things.”

Daryl was curious now about this girl, her pictures. Paul was being specifically vague about the actual subject of her artwork. If Daryl had been curious enough he could have looked it up just like Michonne did but it seemed like Paul had wanted it to be a surprise, so he’d kept it that way.

As Paul held open the gallery door for him he finally got a good look at what the other man was wearing—dark jeans and a striped shirt with a black jacket that came down to his knees. Half his hair was tied up out of his face. Paul would have looked good in a potato sack, but it was clear he’d put in some effort tonight and Daryl was sure appreciative. “Y’look good,” he said once they were inside. That didn’t go anywhere near accurately describing how Daryl thought, but they were in a public place and he couldn’t start anything. He felt twenty years younger looking at Paul, like all his past was easing up on him.

Paul beamed at him. “Thank you. I like those jeans on you.” Paul winked and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Despite the blush he could feel coming up his neck, Daryl took Paul’s hand and squeezed it. “Yeah, let’s see what you’ve been so squirrelly about.”

The place wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either. They’d be able to walk around hand-in-hand no problem, but they wouldn’t be the only people standing in front of any of the huge photographs mounted on the wall. Daryl wasn’t sure what he was looking at for a few seconds, eyes focusing in on the shock of color on an otherwise black and white picture. “Oh, what the fuck?” he asked before he could catch himself. This was definitely no naked ladies in the forest. This was a dead raccoon. Roadkill. Only thing in color was all its guts spilled out on the road. “This Enid’s?”

“Yes, this is Enid’s.”

Daryl looked over at Paul. He was gazing up at the picture like a proud papa, not like he was looking at a dead animal on asphalt. “This what she always takes pictures of? Or just for this show?”

Paul shrugged. “She’s always liked the stuff that other people think is gross. We talked about it once when she first got assigned to me. I was a little worried that there was something more … well, fucked up going on, but she said —”

“—That if everyone else is going to say it’s gross, I’m going to find something beautiful in it and value it,” interrupted a young woman who stood on Paul’s other side. “Mr. Rovia, who’s your date tonight?”

“Please, Enid, I beg of you, call me Paul.” He threw an arm over her shoulder. “This is Daryl, he teaches shop classes where I’m working now.”

“Daryl, it’s nice to meet you.” She gestured at the photograph in front of them. “What do you think?”

The question was clearly aimed at Daryl. It felt like a test. He’d never known anything about art. He hadn’t had access to it, growing up in the double wide with his asshole daddy. Closest thing he’d had to art was the skin mags his brother brought around. According to Merle that kinda thing was supposed to get him going and it hadn’t done anything for him at all. What was he supposed to feel? How was he supposed to talk about it? Daryl never learned about this shit and didn’t have a lot of practice trying to figure it out.

“Just say what’s on your mind,” Paul told him quietly, squeezing his hand.

Daryl pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side. “It’s like … you can see the lost soul inside ‘im, lookin’ in those eyes. Was a living thing, now he’s dead.” He paused, considering. “Ain’t so different from any of the rest of us. Kind of sad, to think about it. He died there by hisself, person who ran him over probably didn’t give him a second thought. That’s fucked up.” He caught himself, looking back at Enid. “Sorry, miss. ‘Scuse my language.”

She was smiling at him. “Oh, it’s alright. This one here has heard worse out of my mouth.” She hugged Paul around his waist and stepped back from them. “I’ll let you two view the rest of the show. Come find me before you leave.” She slinked off and Paul tugged on his hand to bring them to another photograph. This was some dead plants looking prettier than they had any right to be, the light playing off the dew stuck to them. Next were some live plants, nasty looking things that looked like they’d jump out and hurt you if you got too close. Overall, Daryl liked what he saw. Liked how he felt, too. Paul kept holding his hand and leaning into his side, asking him questions and actually listening to his answers. Each question was easier to answer, each photograph taught him more about Paul and this girl he’d mentored.

“That your truck?” he asked, stopping in front of the last photograph.

“Yep.”

In the driver’s seat was a figure Paul’s size, bent forward over the wheel. The window was rolled down and the figure’s arm was dangling out over the door. “That ain’t you, is it?” Daryl squinted and leaned in closer. It _was_ Paul. He looked dead, broken and skin tore up. Again, the only color was the red dripping down his arm and in his matted hair. Daryl was unsettled. It looked real.

“What do you think?”

“Looks like you been gnawed on by zombies or somethin’,” he muttered. Daryl shook his head and squeezed Paul’s hand. “Don’t like it at all.”

Paul frowned and faced the photograph. “I thought we did a good job with the makeup.”

“Looks too real, is the problem. Don’t like thinkin’ about you dead, that’s all.” It had sparked Daryl’s baser instincts and his protective core, and flared up something else on top of that.

“Well that’s sweet,” Paul said fondly. He raised their hands and kissed Daryl’s knuckles. “You ready?”

They said goodbye to Enid on their way out. They listened to the radio on the way back and Daryl was quiet most of the way. Paul wasn’t chatting, but instead he was singing along with the songs on the radio. Daryl didn’t have an ear for music, just knew what he liked, and he liked how Paul sounded when he was singing. Daryl just listened as he tried to process the evening, figure out how he could ask for what he wanted.

They were in Daryl’s driveway before he knew it. Paul walked him to the door and Daryl took him in standing there under the yellow porch light, eyes looking tired after an early start and a relatively late night. Daryl didn’t know much but what he did know was that he wanted to feel Paul under his hands again. He felt like time was stretching on enough to force him into making one move or another so he reached out for Paul’s hands. That seemed safe enough since they’d spent most the evening holding on to each other by them. “You wanna come in for a little while?” he asked, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

Paul bit his lip. “Yeah? You sure?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I weren’t.”

“No, I know. Just … you’ve been quiet. Since the gallery. I thought maybe—”

Daryl shushed him. “Whatever you thought, it ain’t that. Was just thinkin’. I had a good time. I liked the art. I liked bein’ with you. I ain’t always good at words.” He shrugged. “But if you’re not up for it…” he jerked his chin at the still-locked door.

“Fuck yes, I’m up for it.” Paul said. “It’s cold out here.”

“Oh, that’s it?” Daryl scoffed at him, unlocking the door with his eyes locked on Paul’s. “Just after my heating element, should have known.” His bright eyes flashed when Daryl pushed the door open, letting them inside the dark house.

Daryl didn’t even have a chance to flip on the hall light before Paul was crowding up into his space, sliding his hands up Daryl’s arms and over his shoulders and up his neck to tangle in his hair. Daryl let the smaller man pull him down into a kiss, let him press him up against the wall in the entryway. He shivered a little at the wet slide of Paul’s tongue against his, Paul’s lithe body rubbing up hot against him, the scratch of Paul’s beard against his face. “Touch me,” Paul breathed, pulling his hands down Daryl’s chest to the front of his jeans. Hands on his belt buckle, Paul looked up at Daryl from under his lashes, big eyes reflecting the porch light through the window in the door. “Yeah?”

 _Fuck_. “Fuck, please.”

Paul unbuckled his belt with one hand and brought Daryl’s hand into his hair with the other. “Touch me,” he repeated. He sank down to his knees and got both hands involved in getting Daryl’s jeans open. Daryl cradled the back of Paul’s head with one hand and helped push his jeans down with the other. In another instant Paul had him out of his boxers and in hand, licking up his cock and still blinking those big eyes at him.

“Fuck,” Daryl breathed, his hand tightening up in Paul’s hair involuntarily. He immediately relaxed his grip and tried to apologize but Paul shook his head and tipped his head back into Daryl’s hand. He took the hint and was rewarded with that generous mouth back on him, warm and wet and god it’d been so long since he gave a shit about anyone doing this for him, since he wanted to return the favor and have the other man fall apart under his hands and because of his touch. He took his hand out of Paul’s hair to turn on the light, needing to be able to see this. Paul grinned up at him in the full light and got him hard with his mouth and hand, groaning when Daryl pulled on his hair and doubling down on the task at hand.

It was only minutes before Daryl felt himself nearing the edge, almost as much because of the sounds Paul was making as the suction of his mouth and friction of his hand. He bit out a warning and used his hand in Paul’s hair to pull him off of his cock and that’s when he saw Paul’s hand down his own pants, tongue stretched out to get in one last lick. “C’mere,” Daryl ordered, hauling Paul up off his knees and taking them both in hand. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, stroking them together with one hand and wrapping his other arm around Paul’s shoulders to hold him close.

“Yeah, you will,” Paul gasped, leaning in and mouthing along Daryl’s neck. “Come on, come on, fuck, I’m close.”

“I got you,” Daryl promised. “You got this hard from suckin’ me?” Paul whined in response and within another half a minute he was tensing under Daryl’s hands and coming over their hands and his still-hard cock. He kept pulling on himself with Paul’s weight against him, his mouth open over Daryl’s collarbone, wetting the skin there.

“Wanna see,” Paul murmured. “Come on, come for me, Daryl.” Paul joined Daryl’s hand with his and three strokes later he was spilling over. Paul leaned up to kiss him, this time dirtier than all the others, biting and aggressive. His clean hand went to the back of Daryl’s neck and kept him close. “Fuck that was hot,” he whispered, finally leaning back out of Daryl’s space. “Bathroom?” he asked, holding up his come-smeared hand. Daryl motioned down the hall and followed close behind. They took turns at the sink, washing their hands and Daryl splashed some water on his face. He looked up in the mirror and saw Paul pulling his hair back out of his face, twisting it up into a bun on the back of his head.

“Sorry that I come on a little strong—”

“Hush.” He met Paul’s eyes in the mirror, not liking the look in them. “You got nothin’ to apologize for.” He could see that his words weren’t doing much to settle whatever it was Paul was having trouble with. “I invited you in,” he reminded him. “Weren’t like I was expecting us to sit at the table drinkin’ tea or nothin’.”

“Yeah?”

Daryl turned around and studied Paul. He was working his thumb into his opposite hand now, something Daryl was realizing was a nervous tick. What did _Paul_ have to be nervous about? “Told you before, if you were barkin’ up the wrong tree you’d know.”

“You’d tell me, right?”

“Yeah, I’d tell you.”

“And that wasn’t too much? Back there in the hallway?”

“ _Hell_ no. Did you hear me complaining? Fuck, if I didn’t have to be up early tomorrow I’d keep you up until I could get going again.”

“What do you have to get up for early on a Saturday morning?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Gotta visit my asshole brother out at West Georgia Correctional. He’s locked up. Ride up, sit for forty-five minutes listenin’ to him go on about all the tail he’d be gettin’ if he was out. Ride back.” Daryl pushed off the counter. “Look, it’s late—”

“Yeah, I should get going —”

Daryl stepped in close, touched his finger to Paul’s mouth, quieting him. “Hold on. You can get goin’ if you want, or you can stay the night.” He hoped the invitation would ease whatever hang-up Paul was dealing with that had him apologizing for a blowjob.

He also hoped Paul would say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lifted one of Enid's photographs from Norman's roadkill exhibit, the rest I made up. If the quote is familiar to you, there's a reason for that. ;)


	9. Paul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the lovely comments! As a progress update, it looks like this will shape up to be roughly 20 chapters. I've got through 12 written, 13 is NEARLY done, and a few more have summaries ready to be expanded upon. :)
> 
> Enjoy Chapter 9!

Daryl had an extra toothbrush for him and let him borrow some sweatpants. Paul had been cataloging everything since he’d stepped foot in the house, curious about every piece of furniture and decoration—as few as there were—Daryl Dixon had seen fit to put inside it. There were some photographs in the living room that he’d caught sight of but hadn’t gotten close enough to see. The bathroom was clean with no clutter, just the absolute necessities. Nothing on the walls in the hallway and not a speck of dust or dirt on the floor. Whatever Paul might have imagined from the state of his classroom—messy, papers everywhere, more like a disorganized junk garage—this house was far from that. Neat, clean, not an item out of place. Almost … impersonal.

He slid on the sweatpants and brushed his teeth. The exhaustion of the day hit him then, standing there by himself in front of the bathroom mirror. It’d been a particularly rough one, one of those days that makes you check to see if it’s a full moon. He’d broken up three fights over two different passing periods and had one of his kids yelling “Fuck you!” at him over and over after he’d held up his hands and said, “You know what? You’re right. I’ll leave you alone,” and walked away. He tried hard not to take it personally, but days like this he couldn’t win for losing. He spit in the sink and rinsed the toothpaste down the drain. Setting the clean toothbrush with Daryl’s in the holder he gave himself five seconds to imagine a permanence to that position, to this feeling. Paul opened the bathroom door with a question. “Hey, Daryl? Where am I sleeping tonight?” He peeked down the hallway where he figured Daryl’s bedroom was.

“Figured you’d be in here with me, unless you want the couch?” Daryl stood leaning in the doorway of his room, changed into sweats and a black tank top.

Paul suppressed a groan and bit his lip instead. He was totally into this sudden spike of confidence and comfort in his own skin that he was witnessing out of Daryl. “Yes, please.”

Daryl smirked and stepped back into the room. “No need to beg, Rovia, I already offered.”

Paul joined him in the bedroom. It was here that he saw more signs of life. Daryl had a stack of books set on the nightstand and a couple of framed photos up on the walls. There was another picture frame on the nightstand but it was set face down. Maybe it fell over, Paul thought. More likely though, with the state of everything else, Daryl had made a choice to hide it from view.

But Paul wasn’t going to dwell on that. He was going to dwell on Daryl’s arms and how they looked in that shirt. Daryl was teenage Paul’s wet dream come to life. Rough exterior hiding a heart of gold, liked kids and could settle down a baby with the best of them. Nice dick— _great_ dick—and a good kisser. Paul was a sucker for tragic backstories and it didn’t seem like a reach to assume Daryl had one too, with a brother in prison and all. Paul did hope the man would open up to him, but he wasn’t going to push.

“C’mere,” Daryl said from the bed, a thick quilt thrown on top of the sheets.

He slid under the sheets on the other side of the bed. They were a soft flannel in a navy blue. The quilt looked like a family one, something someone’s grandmother might have made. “Are we going to cuddle?”

“Dunno ‘bout cuddlin’, but get over here.”

Paul was happy to comply, lying down and scooting over to Daryl’s side. He tucked himself up against him and wrapped his arm over Daryl’s torso. He squeezed him a little and waited for Daryl to move away, or shift him off, but he didn’t. Paul loved it. He’d been living a touch-starved existence, not counting his run-ins with kids he had to restrain, and he was beginning to suspect that Daryl had the same problem. “This is cuddling, Daryl.”

“Is it now?”

“Cuddle me back.”

“You’re a demanding lil’ shit, ain’t ya,” Daryl muttered, but did as he was ordered. He wrapped his arm around Paul’s shoulders and rested his other hand on Paul’s across his stomach. “Go to sleep, Paul.”

Paul smiled as Daryl stroked his thumb over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

 

* * *

 

 _Hot_ was the first thing that registered in his brain when he woke from the rattle of his phone on the nightstand. Sometime in the night he’d rolled onto his stomach and sometime after that Daryl had done the same thing. Paul couldn’t see him, but he could feel half of his weight—and all of his heat—holding him down on the bed. Paul had no desire to move.

Daryl stirred against Paul’s back.

“Mornin’,” Paul greeted him, eyes still closed. His phone would stop buzzing in a minute.

“Turn that shit off,” Daryl mumbled into the back of his neck.

Paul groaned and reached his arm out from under the blankets to silence his phone. He hadn’t dreamed, he hadn’t woken in the middle of the night, he hadn’t lain awake for hours at a time thinking about Calder or Lizzie or any of the rest of his kids. He’d been able to turn off his brain while lying in Daryl’s arms and under his weight.

Daryl Dixon was a cure for his insomnia.

“I don’t want to get out of this bed,” he complained.

He felt Daryl’s mouth press to the back of his shoulder. “I gotta get out of here in about half an hour, but you c’n be lazy ‘til then.”

“Be lazy with me?” Paul wriggled back against Daryl’s body.

Daryl scoffed and pulled away, leaving a chill to fall over Paul. “Don’t got time for that.” He dragged his hand down Paul’s back from the nape of his neck to the waistband of his sweatpants. Paul shivered. “Don’t got time for everything I wanna do to you.” He said that last bit quieter, like he wasn’t sure he should be saying it.

Paul’s face heated up and he pressed his burgeoning hard-on into the mattress. This really was more than he could stand. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Sorry,” Daryl apologized from further away, not sounding sorry at all. Paul burrowed back under the blankets and smiled to himself. He listened as Daryl walked down the hallway and shut himself into the bathroom, then as he turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. He let his sleep-soaked brain conjure up that picture of Daryl standing there naked, head tipped back, wet all over— _fuck fuck fuck_. He couldn’t jerk off here, in Daryl’s bed. With Daryl in the shower. With Daryl _out_ of the shower, jesus, that was the shortest shower in history. He opened his eyes when the bedroom door clicked open again and choked on his tongue. It was only a towel around his waist that was keeping him from full nudity. Paul watched as he dug through a couple drawers for clean clothes. He trailed his eyes up Daryl’s back, seeing for the first time the thick scars there. He was right about that tragic backstory. Paul could only imagine.

“C’n feel you gawpin’ at me.”

Paul closed his eyes. “Sorry.”

He heard the towel drop to the carpet, fabric sliding against skin. Daryl was getting dressed. “S’alright. Was my daddy, if you were wonderin’.”

Paul’s stomach dropped. Worst case scenario. “That’s not alright at all.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean, it’s alright that you were starin’. And I’m at peace with it. Been a long time since it got to me.”

“Is he—is he still around?”

“Nah. Drank himself to death twenty years ago.”

 _Good_ , Paul thought. He knew better than to say that out loud. “Thank you.” He opened his eyes. “For telling me, I mean.”

Daryl shrugged. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt stretched over his shoulders. Effortlessly hot. “Ain’t nothin’.”

“You know that’s not true.” Paul pushed himself up to a seated position. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth so we can make out for a minute before I leave.”

“You’re a man with a plan, even at the ass crack of dawn.”

Paul smiled. “Give me a minute to change and I’ll meet you at the door.”

“Nah, you can hang on to those.”

“First your jacket, now your sweatpants … Daryl, you got a thing about seeing me in your clothes?”

Daryl scoffed at him. “Get goin’.” Paul did.

Teeth brushed and breath fresh, Paul slipped his socked feet into his shoes and shuffled down the hallway to the front door. Daryl had his jacket on and helmet in his hand. “I hope your visit with your brother goes well,” Paul offered, moving into Daryl’s space.

Daryl’s free hand came up to his hair, more tentative than he’d been last night in this same space. “Ain’t expecting it to be any different from all the rest of them, but thanks. I appreciate the sentiment.”

Paul realized now, hands resting on Daryl’s chest wearing his sweatpants and thinking about the next chance he’d have to see him, that what he’d had with Alex was _nothing_. Paul hadn’t ever felt like he could tell Alex about his past without judgment, and Alex had never felt the need to open up himself. They’d fucked, sure, a lot, and it’d been good but—god, it didn’t hold a candle to what he was feeling now. Was that the recency effect? Did he just feel that way because he woke up with Daryl this morning and he hadn’t been fucked in more than a year? Was he romanticizing—

“You gonna kiss me or just keep starin’ at me?” Daryl tightened his hand in Paul’s hair and _there_ it was. He let Daryl pull him in and deepened the kiss immediately. Fuck recency. Alex hadn’t ever kissed him like this, like he couldn’t get enough of the way he felt, how he tasted. He hadn’t held Paul close like Daryl was, like he was someone worth holding onto.

Paul felt himself falling.


	10. Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reveal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy! I posted this in spite of my host kitty's best efforts of distraction. Little does he know I'm allergic to him so it's not MUCH of a hardship to ignore his attentions. Thanks go out to C and H for looking this over -- both of my betas are, uh, not in fandom! Which for an AU seems to work out okay. What will I do when I write canon fic again??
> 
> Also, there's some homophobic slurs in this chapter.

Since meeting Paul Rovia, Daryl Dixon was spending more time in the main building. He’d started taking his lunches in Paul’s office, even. Sometimes Paul had to be out wrangling one of his kids so he’d walk down and eat with Rick. And whereas before he’d be hightailing it off campus as soon as the parking lots cleared of student cars, Daryl found himself more often heading against the flow of traffic back into the main building. He wanted to spend all his time with Paul and his big smiles. Paul made him feel whole.

He was on his way down to Paul’s office when he heard the particular sound of a fistfight in its early stages—suddenly-raised voices, a quickly-gathering crowd, a curious combination of a hush and a rising volume. He started to run toward the crowd of students and hollered at the outer edges to get gone. There was a familiar voice in the mix and he saw Paul in action, throwing himself into the thick of the fight, catching a kid’s swinging fist with his hand, and hauling the instigator out of the crowd. While the assistant principals dealt with the rest, Paul held the student quietly against a wall, speaking to him firmly. Once the hall was clear Paul handed off the student he’d nabbed to an administrator and stood there in the hallway blank-faced, letting down his hair—it’d become disheveled in the action—and then pulling it back up into a knot on top of his head.

Daryl broke the silence some moments later as he watched Paul level out his breathing. “Rick told me some stories, but stories ain’t nothin’ like seein’ the real thing.”

“Just doing my job.” Paul smiled at him. Daryl could see the stress in his eyes that he’d been holding there for the last two weeks. “Hey, you wanna do me a favor?”

“Sure.” Didn’t matter what it was gonna be, Daryl was gonna say yes. Anything to take some of the burden off of him.

“Could you get me a soda from the machine in the lounge? I need to write down what just happened before the details get fuzzy. In case they need a statement from me.”

Daryl patted down his pockets. “You got change?”

Paul dumped a handful of coins in Daryl’s hand and told him any kind of soda was fine just as long as it had caffeine. Teacher’s lounges were spread all around the school, one in each long hallway just about. But the only one with vending machines was the main one down by the front office. Daryl tried to avoid them as much as he could. There was just too much gossiping that happened in those rooms, the only places you could be sure that students wouldn’t turn up. The door was open when he got there, a whole group of coaches having just entered. They were standing in a group taking turns at the coke machine, feeding their dollar bills into the unit and shooting the shit while they did.

Daryl poked through the coins in his hand. He didn’t wanna get dragged into making small talk. It didn’t happen often, he had kind of a resting “fuck off” look about him, but it was known to happen, especially with coaches. They were worse than the average human being at picking up cues.

“Was that Jesus in the middle of it again?” said one of the men. He had stringy blond hair. There was a thunk from the coke machine.

Daryl’s heart rate picked up quick, even faster than when he was running to the fight.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if that little fruit got off on that, touchin’ those kids like he does,” another man responded. He was the tallest of the group, and from the body language of the men around him Daryl could tell he was their leader.

The anxiety of anticipating hearing a shitty thing about the man he was falling in love with was replaced by a rising rage in hearing the words. _Goddamnit_. He couldn’t let this one alone. “The _hell_ did you just say?” All five of the men turned around in unison, various shades of _who the fuck is this?_ on their faces.

The man twisted the cap off his soda and took a swig. Daryl eyed him up. He could take him, if it came to that. He could take him easy; the man had a few inches on him but Daryl was a brawler. “I _said_ , the little queer who works with those ED kids? I’ll bet he gets off on touchin’ ‘em. Why, you friends with him?”

Daryl felt like he was gonna vibrate right out of his skin with the urge to knock this guy’s teeth in. He couldn’t remember being this damn angry. Not even when Merle had boosted his bike, totaled it, and got himself locked up for the first time for a DUI. “That ain’t no way to talk about him. Ain’t no way to talk about _anybody_ —”

“And who the fuck are _you_?” the man drawled. He was standing with a lazy ease, shoulders back and hips leading.

“Who the fuck are _you_?” Daryl threw back, taking a step closer to them. He could definitely take the man who was jawing about Paul, and the other four didn’t look like they had the balls to back him up. And if they did, well, he’d deal with it then. Merle taught him how to fight. It’d been years since he had need to do it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t. He didn’t like this motherfucker one fucking bit.

“Oh, _I_ know who you are,” the mouthy one said, snapping his fingers and grinning. “You’re the cocksucker whose boyfriend caught cancer and died, aren’t you?”

Daryl saw red. Time slowed down and he couldn’t breathe. He felt a hand on his arm that he shrugged off, threw his elbow back and took an aggressive step forward. He heard Rick’s voice in his ear all the sudden, barking at him to stand down. Daryl broke the contact of the hand grabbing his shoulder, and then Rick was in front of him, pushing him back away from the men. Daryl still had his eyes stuck on that bastard, and he could hear himself sucking in air like an angry bull. _Fuck_ this asshole. “I hear you talkin’ shit again, you’re gonna fucking regret it,” he spit out. Weren’t enough that this shitstain was making accusations against Paul. No, he had to stab at the tenderest part of Daryl’s whole being. Like it was _nothing_.

“Let’s go,” Rick growled out, steel in his voice and in his grip on Daryl’s arm. Rick hustled him out of there and herded him into his office, shutting the door behind him. He shoved Daryl onto the bench and stood in front of him with his arms across his chest. “You can’t _threaten_ people in front of me, Daryl.”

Daryl glared at him.

“What the hell were you thinking? You can’t go picking fights with the head baseball coach.”

“I was _thinkin’_ , this guy was talking shit about Paul and I couldn’t let him do that.”

Rick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s _it_?”

“’That’s _it_?’ You think that’s _nothin’_?”

“I’m not saying it’s nothing, but this is out of character for you. I haven’t seen you this angry since—” he cut himself off and sighed deeply. His eyes got all soft. “That ain’t all he said, is it?”

Daryl scowled. “Fuck off.”

“Daryl—”

“I was only in there to get Paul a coke. Weren’t like I was lookin’ for a fight. Weren’t tryin’ to talk to ‘em in the first place, he just started sayin’ shit! I cain’t listen to that and not _say_ anything.”

“I know, I know,” Rick tried placating him, leaning forward to put his hand on his shoulder. “Just … let me handle it.”

“What is it you think you can do?”

“Daryl.” That was his warning tone.

Daryl shrugged Rick off again. “Don’t say anythin’ to Paul about this.”

“Have you told him?”

Daryl knew he was worrying Rick when the cop used that gentle tone on him. He hadn’t heard it in a long time, not since—well, not since. “No.”

“And you’re—you’re serious about him? About Paul?”

Daryl groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “We really gotta do this?”

“You’ve been seein’ him for awhile now and he doesn’t know—”

“I’ll tell ‘im, okay? I want to. I just … just haven’t been able to find the words. It ain’t easy.”

“I know it’s not.”

And that wasn’t _exactly_ true, Rick couldn’t possibly know how fucking hard it was. Lori wasn’t dead and neither was Michonne, but Daryl knew he wasn’t trying to be hurtful. Weren’t on purpose. He held out Paul’s change. “Could you get him a coke?”

Rick took the coins. “You gotta promise me you’re not gonna go after that coach.”

“I won’t.” It might be a lie later on, but it was the truth for now.

Rick looked at him warily. “I’m keepin’ my eye on you.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Could you go? Been gone way too long already, this is bullshit.”

Rick opened the door. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you!” Daryl shouted after him.

 

* * *

 

 

He was calmed down from the near-fight, but he was still a mess of emotions. This was a conversation that was a long time in coming but he wasn’t even close to being ready to have it. And like hell he was having it at _work_. No, they had to be alone, at Paul’s apartment or better yet, Daryl’s house. Sitting on the couch and close to the photo album so Daryl didn’t have to look right in Paul’s eyes the whole time.

One of the things he’d picked up from watching Paul work was how he got some of his kids to “get out of their red zone and into their blue.” It was all about survival states and executive states, whatever the fuck that meant, but one of the techniques was just deep breathing. Daryl did that now, went through the “in three - hold three - out three” several times before he felt relaxed enough to push open Paul’s office door.

He felt like a heel, making up a story about why it took so long to get the coke. Paul could probably see right through it but gave him a kiss on the cheek anyway. He had to get out of there before everything spilled out of him right then and there.

So he drove home to make dinner and wait. Paul was coming over after he finished up with this next round of paperwork. He wouldn’t talk about what had him so stressed out lately, all Daryl knew is that it had something to do with one of his kids. And since it wasn’t one that Daryl taught too, Paul wouldn’t talk about it. And now Daryl was gonna dump all his trauma in Paul’s lap because there wasn’t any way he could keep it off his face anymore. That fucking coach had pulled all of it back up just like that, ten years of steering clear of touching those feelings boiling back up. It was like he had to get all of it out. Now.

So maybe it wasn’t the coach. Maybe it was just time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess who the coach is? ;)


	11. Paul

Paul was fucking _exhausted_. Maggie was still a week away from coming back and Braun was pushing to call the county. He knew as soon as Calder saw Dawn Lerner, the woman the county would send out to see if he had to be moved to the EBD school, he was going to lose his shit and any progress he’d made since August was going to be wiped out in an instant. And they _had_ made progress, that was what killed him about this. Calder wasn’t a good candidate for the state EBD school—Paul couldn’t be sure _any_ child was, if you asked his professional opinion—and his last chance was adding another segregation period. The paperwork involved in Calder’s case easily eclipsed the rest of his caseload combined and it’d been keeping him chained to his desk after dismissal for the last two weeks. If he could just hold out long enough for Maggie to get back and in the swing of things….

But every day since Braun had e-mailed him with her order disguised as a request, and he’d started putting together his case to appeal to everything he knew about Ms. Lerner’s character, Daryl had come over to make sure he was taking care of himself. Paul hadn’t asked him to, Daryl had just shown up to help. Paul held all his tension in his shoulders and Daryl would work his thumbs into the knots there without a word. He couldn’t remember ever having that before, someone who’d take care of him. And then today had just been a shitstorm with the fight, being unable to get Calder’s mother on the phone, and Daryl coming back with his soda hiding something.

And now he was heading to Daryl’s place. Paul had a sick feeling about it that he tried to shove away. He couldn’t help but think about Alex sitting him down and telling him he was asking for too much. There was _going_ to be a heavy talk tonight, he could feel it in his bones. “Fuck!” His heart started ramping up and his breath came faster. He pulled into the first parking lot he saw, the Publix half a mile from Daryl’s house. As soon as he got the truck in park he dialed Maggie. Battling with his mind he counted each ring. She picked up on the fourth.

“Hey, Jesus. How are ya, babe?”

“Panicking,” he wheezed.

“Oh honey, I’m sure whatever it is ain’t that bad—”

“Not helping—”

“Okay breathe with me, count with me, come on.” She’d heard him say this to Calder enough times and had started taking over for him once Calder got comfortable with her. Sometimes Paul still felt like he should be able to handle this, his brain knew he was okay and he knew his brain _knew_ it but he still needed Maggie there. He counted with her. He breathed with her. His mind slowed down and Maggie’s voice steadied him. “Feelin’ better?”

“Yeah.” He took a final deep breath and collapsed back in his seat.

“What’s got you like this?”

“Fucking— _everything_. You know what’s going on with Calder, and you know I can’t let them take him away. That place ain’t good for him, the best place for him is here, it’s his least restrictive environment—”

“You don’t have to convince me,” she interrupted.

“If it were just that, no problem. Right? Been there, done that, stared down Braun and gotten what I knew was right for the kid. But it’s not just that.” He took a deep breath. He hadn’t talked to Maggie about any of this, worried that letting anyone in was going to jinx what he could have. “I think Daryl’s going to break up with me tonight.”

“I didn’t know you were that serious.”

Paul banged his head back against the headrest. He hadn’t even _considered_ that angle. “Fuck, maybe we _aren’t_ that serious.” But even as he said it aloud he knew that wasn’t reality.

“Honey, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t either,” he whispered back.

“If you want to tell me what’s been goin’ on, maybe I can help you think through it.”

So he told her everything. He told her about their dates, about staying over at Daryl’s after the second one, how Daryl took him out on the bike to all his favorite places in the local countryside, and how they cooked each other dinner. He told her about how good Daryl was with his students, how their weekly tech sessions let him see what made him tick, how his brain worked. He liked what he saw. He liked how Daryl paid attention to him, just watched him and listened and took all of it to heart. He was sweet and gentle and so fucking hot Paul couldn’t stand it sometimes.

“Paul, none of this sounds like he’s going to break up with you. Sounds more like he’d be asking you to move in with him, unless there’s something you’re leaving out.”

And he felt foolish even thinking about it because set up against what he’d already said, it was nothing. But that nothing was scratching at his brain and driving him crazy. “Today I asked him to go get me a soda and when he came back he lied about why it’d taken him so long.”

Maggie was quiet for a moment. “Is this lying a pattern of behavior?”

“No,” he answered vehemently. “He’s never—I mean, not that I know of.” He hated that creeping doubt that he could feel sneaking up from his stomach into his heart, animated by this thought.

“Then you should talk to him about it.”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of this,” he protested.

“You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. You can just ask him.”

Paul knew that Maggie was right.

By the time he got to Daryl’s door he’d nearly worked himself back into that state of frenzy again, imagining every way this conversation could go wrong, but when the door opened and Paul saw Daryl standing there with his hand to his mouth, worrying at the skin around his thumb, some of it eased away. _Daryl is a good man_ , he told himself. There had to be a reason for this that didn’t end in tears and heartbreak.

“Hungry?” Daryl asked, and Paul stepped inside.

 

* * *

 

Daryl wasn’t fancy with his cooking. He was a meat and potatoes guy who needed reminding when it came to vegetables, but he was good at seasoning and never overcooked a steak and always had cold beer in the fridge and ice cream in the freezer. Sometimes he’d cook up some pasta and meatballs and send Paul home with a container full of leftovers. Daryl had quickly picked up on the fact that Paul was shit at feeding himself. He could cook, yeah, even had a few nice dishes he could whip up, but cooking for one? All the time? Paul couldn’t be bothered.

“That’s bullshit,” Daryl had said when he’d explained it. “Gotta take care of yourself better’n that.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got you then,” Paul had responded, trying for a joke but not really feeling the humor of it, just a quiet desperation that he could hang onto this. Daryl had only snorted and given him a look like, _yeah, sure is_ , and served him up some rabbit stew. (That was the other thing about Daryl’s cooking—more game than Paul had ever been offered in his life. He’d enjoyed the rabbit and the squirrel, but the snake had been a step too far.)

But now Paul felt antsy, hardly tasting the meatloaf that Daryl had prepared. Every second that ticked by brought him closer to having to ask the question and he didn’t even know how to say it. Would he sound petty? Would he sound like he was just trying to keep tabs on Daryl? Would he sound like he didn’t trust him? With any other partner he wouldn’t think twice about it. He’d brush it off and ignore it, convince himself he’d made it up in an effort to keep the peace. Daryl wasn’t anyone else, though. Daryl had been good to him, had taken care of him, had spoken his mind and asked questions and asked for help. Offered help. Lying was so out of character and was ringing every alarm bell he’d so carefully quieted before.

“I made another for you to take home but if you don’t like it—”

Paul shook his head. “No, I like it. It’s good. Thank you.”

Daryl sighed. His plate was empty. Paul had eaten maybe half his meal. “A’right, spit it out.” Daryl stood up to take his plate to the sink.

Paul panicked. “What?”

Daryl came back and motioned at his plate. Paul looked down. He wasn’t going to finish his food, not with the state his stomach was in. He offered it up to Daryl. “I can tell you got somethin’ to say, ‘s in the way those eyes of yours are blinkin’ at me.”

 _Fuck, I’m not ready_. “Okay. Why’d you lie about the soda?”

Daryl let out a deep breath that he saw more than heard over the sound of the running water. “Didn’t want to have this conversation in your office with you all stressed out.”

Well _that_ did nothing to help his anxious mind. “I’m still stressed out—”

“Yeah, but at least you had a real meal and we can sit next to each other on the couch while I say what I gotta say.” Daryl turned back around from the counter and must have seen Paul’s panic writ all over his face. “Hey, it ain’t _you_ —”

“Please don’t—I’m sorry, whatever it is, I’m sorry.” He wasn’t above begging.

Daryl left the dishes and pulled him out of his chair. “No, hey. C’mere, I ain’t—whatever you think this is, it ain’t that.” Paul tightened his arms around Daryl’s back and buried his face in his neck.

“You’re not breaking up with me?” he whispered.

Daryl squeezed him tighter. “No, I ain’t breakin’ up with you. C’mon, gotta show you somethin’.”


	12. Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (almost) the moment you've all been waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just fyi we're getting into dangerous territory here -- i have 1.5 chapters written after this one, probably 6 more to write after that. love your comments and your kudos! hmu at yessoupy, anon is on. ;) i love to know what you think about each chapter and what you hope to see going forward!!

Paul was looking at him with something heavy in his eyes all through dinner. He’d just picked at his meal, eaten maybe half of what he normally would, and looked like he was waiting for Daryl to say something horrible. He couldn’t take it anymore. “Spit it out,” he ordered, picking up his plate and taking it to the sink.

“What?”

He motioned to Paul’s plate and Paul held it up. “I can tell you got somethin’ to say, ‘s in the way those eyes of yours are blinkin’ at me.”

“Okay. Why’d you lie about the soda?”

Daryl sighed. He knew it. “Didn’t want to have this conversation in your office with you all stressed out.” He scraped Paul’s plate into the trash and got to rinsing the dishes.

“I’m still stressed out—”

“Yeah, but at least you had a real meal and we can sit next to each other on the couch while I say what I gotta say.” Daryl figured he’d spent enough time with his eyes on the counter, hiding from how easy Paul could read him. He set the dishes aside and caught Paul’s frantic look when he turned around. No no no. “Hey, it ain’t _you_ —”

“Please don’t—I’m sorry, whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

He closed the distance between them and caught him up in his arms, held him close. “No, hey. C’mere, I ain’t—whatever you think this is, it ain’t that.” This was worse than lying to him earlier, seeing him like this. Hurt, because of what Daryl was saying. How he was acting. Paul’s hair was soft under his hand and Daryl felt Paul’s arms tighten around his back.

“You’re not breaking up with me?” Paul whispered into his neck.

Despite the circumstances, Daryl’s heart leapt. If Paul was worried they were gonna break up, he had to consider them together. They really did need to talk, as much as it was the last thing he wanted to do. Right at the top of that list was taking this man to his bed and just _showing_ him how much he meant, but they had to get through this first. “No, I ain’t breakin’ up with you. C’mon, gotta show you somethin’.”

Once they were settled on the couch, Daryl fished out the photo album on the bottom shelf of the coffee table and blew the dust off the top. “Here.” He handed it to Paul and sat back on the couch. The nerves were rattling out of him now that they were here. His knee was bouncing up and down like it had a mind of its own. He’d seen Paul eyeballing this album for weeks and appreciated deeply that he hadn’t ever asked him about it, but now it was time. Paul set the album on his lap and opened it with one hand, the other going to Daryl’s knee to quiet it.

It was hard to tell from the first few pages what was going on. A dark tablecloth there, a blurry woman’s shoe in another. A place card out of focus. “We got some disposable cameras,” Daryl said quietly, “gave ‘em to everybody. Rick’s ex-wife, Lori, she got ‘em all developed and made this for me. She put every picture in, even the mistakes. Said somethin’ about catchin’ every detail. I dunno. She’s sentimental.” The next page was a real picture, Daryl in the center of the frame and—

“Who’s this?” Paul asked softly, tracing their outline with his finger. He didn’t look surprised.

“That’s Jesse.” It was a lot to say his name out loud in front of someone else, someone who didn’t know him. He’d kept him all to himself like that on purpose, thinking it would help. Maybe it did at first, but as time went on it felt like he was trapping himself in the past. Introducing Paul to Jesse was something he knew, deep down, had to happen. No way else they could go any further if Paul didn’t know that part of him and understand why he was the way he was. What made him like this. That was what had been hanging him up since that first time Paul spent the night. He wanted, but until he could get this out onto the table he couldn’t put it out of his head and let himself move on.

Paul flipped another page, and this was where it got undeniable.

“Weren’t a strictly _legal_ wedding,” he explained. He was staring at Paul’s profile instead of the album. He had the whole book memorized. They were both smiling just off-camera at the person taking the picture—it’d been Lori, Daryl remembered—and Daryl had his arm over Jesse’s shoulder and Jesse’s hand was tangled up in his. “Had a big party instead, Rick got up there and said a few words. Called him my best man even though there wasn’t any kinda real ceremony.” It didn’t hurt as much as he imagined it would to look at these pictures again. Paul holding the album helped some, like he wasn’t re-living a dead past a decade gone but instead sharing some fond memories.

Paul turned through the rest of the pages slowly, taking his time to look over each page in turn. He took Daryl’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “What happened?” Paul squeezed his hand.

“Got lung cancer two years after this. I felt so fuckin’ guilty thinkin’ it was my smokin’ that did him in. Haven’t smoked since.”

“I’m so sorry,” Paul whispered, eyes on the last page. This was the romantic shot of them lookin’ up at the stars out on the porch of the place they’d rented for the party. They were wearing their riding jackets, Daryl in his old one that he’d had to retire and Jesse in the one he’d lent to Paul.

“Sometimes I would think it'd be better for him to get taken in a car accident or something, something fast, if he had to go, cause just seein’ him get broken down more and more every day, after we found out he wasn’t gonna get better ... sometimes it was just too much to take. But I got that time with him, knowin’ he was gonna leave me, and we got to have those conversations some people never have, or wish the whole rest of their lives they coulda had.” Tears pricked at his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He wiped at them with his free hand.

“No, it’s okay. Cry if you need to.” Paul put the album on the table and turned to face him, eyes soft and encouraging. Something in Daryl’s face must have tipped him off because Paul reached for him and Daryl went easily, grateful to have Paul’s arms back around him. He could sit here for hours holding onto him, feeling his heartbeat safe and sound, the warmth of his skin next to his, his breath fanning out across his cheek. “Thank you for sharing him with me,” Paul whispered so softly Daryl barely caught it.

“Thought I was all done with that, thought I was clean outta tears already. It's been ten years since he died. One ‘a those conversations was him telling me that I better be finding someone who could make me happy. And I ain't thought anyone was special as him all these years. Not until you.”

Paul’s arms tightened around him.

The words stopped. Daryl had already said more in one sitting than he did any time outside being on the clock. It was still hard to talk about Jesse—how they met, how Jesse had pushed him to go back to school so he could share his talent with people who could appreciate it. How they’d started as friends first, and then lovers. How he’d been there when Merle had gotten locked up for the long-term and helped him shut down the shop to close the door on that part of his past. Helped him get the job he had now. Was always there in a way his other friends couldn’t be, a way they couldn’t understand he needed. There was a lot he still needed to say, and he would, just not tonight. “Wouldn’t be the man I am today without him,” Daryl said instead, because that was the overarching truth of it. That’s what he owed to him.

“Wish I could have met him,” Paul replied, leaning back to look at him. His eyes were thoughtful as his thumbs swept away the wet tracks on Daryl’s cheeks. Daryl’s heart clenched at that image, Jesse alive and well and shaking Paul’s hand. “I know what that would mean,” he continued, hands still on his face. “And maybe that makes it mean less because it’s an impossibility but I want you to know that I—” he broke off and bit his lip, brushing Daryl’s hair off his face. “I’d tell him thank you.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later they were still on the couch with empty ice cream bowls and spoons littering the coffee table next to the dust-free photo album. Daryl still had stories he had to tell, but they’d be easier each time. Paul wasn’t pushing him.

Paul finished off his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. “I am still curious about one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Why did it take you so long with the soda?”

Daryl groaned. “I _did_ answer that. Said I didn’t wanna have that conversation in your office.”

Paul shrugged. “But what does this have to do with the soda?”

“Almost punched an asshole’s teeth in. He was saying shit about you, and then—he brought up Jesse.”

“He knew about him?”

“Anyone who’s been around more’n ten years knows my _roommate_ died. Not like I was talkin’ about it, but I had to take a lot of days over the years and you know how people gossip. Some of those assholes though put two and two together and say some fucked up shit. There’s a reason I never came into the building if I could help it.” He never could handle all the looks he got, the pity in some people’s eyes and the disbelief in others’. Like they were trying to imagine him with Jesse and couldn’t square the idea with the man in front of them.

“Who was it?”

“You ain’t gotta do anythin’—”

“Who _was_ it, Daryl?”

“The head baseball coach.”

To Daryl’s surprise, Paul laughed. He knelt up on the couch and slid a leg over Daryl to settle himself on Daryl’s lap. “I fucking hate Coach Negan. Maybe now you’ll help me with my plan.”

“You got a plan for this guy?”

“Yeah, it’s been in the works for about ten months. Some homophobic shit he was saying on the field found its way back to me and me and Maggie started plotting.”

“Jesus. What’s the plan?”

“I win the baseball team’s home run derby fundraiser in a couple of weeks. He’s won the adult division every year. It’s time someone took him down a notch.”

Daryl scoffed. “You _what_? You don’t even _like_ baseball. Do you even know how to play?”

“I mean, I played T-ball when I was, like, four. But it’s not about playing the sport, it’s about hitting home runs. And _that_ is about repeatable motion. From me, and from my pitcher.” Paul cocked an eyebrow and dragged his hands down from Daryl’s shoulders to his biceps. “You got a repeatable motion?” He rocked his hips forward and that short-circuited Daryl’s brain. _What’s he asking?_

“You fucking with me?” he asked, voice sounding like gravel.

“Yes, but I’m also asking you seriously. You wanna be my pitcher?”

Daryl rubbed his hands up Paul’s thighs, over his hips, and around to his ass. He thought about it for a second, about playing catch with his granddaddy a long time ago and how those were some of his only happy childhood memories. Then he thought about how Paul was gonna look there at home plate with the bat on his shoulder, big blue eyes focused on him waiting for each pitch, maybe he’d wear some tight baseball pants… “Yeah,” Daryl agreed. “I’ll be your pitcher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you felt all mushy at any point in this chapter you can probably thank hannah for it with her insistence that i make this "softer." 💜


	13. Paul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's ready, and Paul's been ready.

The last time he’d had Daryl underneath him like this he’d merely _hoped_ he’d finally get to have all of him. It was back at his place after a ride on a Saturday afternoon, a rare early March sun beating down on them with the temptation of spring. That sun had filtered in through the cheap metal blinds as Paul settled himself on Daryl’s lap, striping over Daryl’s chest and neck and hair that Paul pushed back out of his face. He liked this face. He liked it a lot. It was a face that had seen a lot and had weathered a lot and could still look up at Paul like that, sweet and disbelieving. “Not too heavy, am I?” he’d combed his fingers back through Daryl’s hair, hips leaned forward to press his hardening dick against Daryl’s stomach.

“Fuck no.”

Daryl’s hands had been in PG territory, resting on Paul’s hips. Paul trailed his fingers from Daryl’s hair down his neck, over his shoulders, all the way down his arms to take his hands and gently move them down to his ass. “Here,” he’d said firmly.

With Daryl’s hands on his ass now it was just another reminder that he hadn’t forgotten anything he’d done that made Paul’s breath quicken. Paul only had to react once and he could almost see Daryl adding to his mental Rolodex. _Wants me to grab his ass_ and _likes when I pull his hair just a little_ and _likes a tight grip on his cock when I’m jerking him off_. Paul knew Daryl kept track because every subsequent encounter with him started out with, “Like this, yeah?” _just_ how he liked it.

“Yeah. I’ll be your pitcher.”

Paul shivered and rolled his hips again. “Please tell me you’re ready,” he begged. All his cool was out the window.

Daryl tugged him close and inhaled deeply, his scruff scratching at Paul’s neck. “Ready for what?”

“To fuck me,” he breathed. It was what he’d wanted since he’d kissed Daryl for the first time outside his apartment. He’d long since stopped being embarrassed by how eager he could be for this and everything else. Alex had done a number on him emotionally, but it wasn’t like the man had ever complained about how he was in bed. Loud, hungry, up for almost anything—he’d only gotten praised for that.

Daryl pressed his mouth against the hollow of Paul’s throat and dragged his tongue across the skin there, up the side of his neck, and exhaled when he reached his ear. “Yeah, alright.” Before Paul knew it he was hauled even closer and Daryl was standing up from the couch.

“Fuck yes.” Paul slid one arm around Daryl’s shoulders and curled in to return the mouthy favor to Daryl’s neck.

Daryl tightened his grip on Paul’s thighs, squeezing like a warning. “Stop squirming, I’ll drop ya.”

“You said I wasn’t too heavy.”

“For sittin’, you ain’t. Just hold on, let me carry you to my bed.”

Paul felt like he was on fire. Daryl carried him through the hallways and didn’t turn on a light until they reached his bedroom, and then just the lamp by the bed after he dumped Paul onto the mattress. Paul was already halfway out of his shirt when the light flipped on. He wrangled the cotton over his head and threw it to the side, starting in on his belt. “You just gonna watch me?”

“I like the view.”

“Please get naked.”

Daryl scoffed and started in on his own clothes, dropping them piece by piece onto the floor. First his button-down, then his undershirt. He slipped his belt out of the loops. The buckle _thunked_ onto the rug and he didn’t take his eyes off Paul, who was pushing off his jeans and hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his grey boxer-briefs. “C’mon,” Daryl nodded at him.

“Catch up.” Paul arched an eyebrow. He felt himself get harder under Daryl’s heated gaze, cock twitching in the soft cotton.

Daryl shucked his jeans and boxers in one motion, stepping out of them before stepping forward, close enough to grab onto Paul’s ankles. He ran his hands up Paul’s legs and he shivered. “You like that?” Daryl murmured.

Paul was staring down Daryl’s body, strong and solid in a way no gym rat could accomplish. His chest was heaving now, fingers finally meeting Paul’s boxer-briefs. “Keep going,” he responded, eyes locked on Daryl’s half-hard dick. He licked his lips.

Daryl’s hands were on his waistband. “Eyes up here,” he ordered, and Paul dragged his stare back up Daryl’s body to his face. Daryl looked like he was going to devour him. He yanked at Paul’s underwear, pulling them down first gently over his dick and then as fast as he could the rest of the way. Then his mouth was right there, licking up Paul’s cock and they’d done this part before, but not like this. Not skin to skin. Not with something else clearly on the table for later.

Paul tipped his head back against the mattress and closed his eyes. The gentle suction was a tease, not meant to get him off. “Want you,” he panted, tangling his hand in Daryl’s hair.

“Got me,” Daryl’s lips brushed Paul’s cock with a whisper.

“ _More_ , please.” Please please please. Soft, wet, warm, assured. Daryl pulled back from him and Paul whined. “No, don’t—”

“Calm your horses.” Daryl kissed him on the mouth, wet and dirty, but wouldn’t let Paul pull him down onto him. “You want me inside you, you gotta let me get into the nightstand. Okay?”

 _Oh_.

Daryl tossed a bottle of lube and a condom onto the bed beside Paul and crawled back over him, nosing at his belly, nipping at the skin over his ribs, laving his tongue over his nipple. “How do you want me?” Paul panted, squirming underneath Daryl’s mouth and hands.

Daryl reached for the lube and flipped the cap open. “However you wanna be, that’s how I want you.” He poured the lube onto his fingers and recapped the bottle. “I’ll take care of you.”

Paul felt heat rise up under Daryl’s stare and tucked a pillow under his head. “Want you just like this, then.” He let Daryl nudge his thighs apart and felt the cool press of his fingers against his entrance, brushing gently before pressing one in. “Oh that’s the ticket.” He slid his feet up the sheets, let his thighs fall apart further.

“Ticket to what?”

Paul laughed. “To ride, Daryl.” Pleasure sparked up his spine as Daryl brushed up against that bundle of nerves. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Yeah?”

“More.”

“Demanding lil’ shit.”

“I’ve been patient.”

Daryl leaned down and pressed a kiss to Paul’s knee. “Yeah, you have. You been real good, waitin’ for me to catch up.”

Paul breathed through the stretch of a second finger. “Worth it.”

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

He groaned. “Keep it up with the porn lines and I’m not gonna last long enough to take your cock.”

“You keep _that_ up and I ain’t gonna last long enough to give it to you.” Daryl leaned down to take his cock in his mouth again.

Between the twin stimulations of Daryl’s mouth and his hand Paul felt like he was going to implode. Daryl nudged in a third finger and Paul took it, squirming against the bed. “Another minute like this and I’m good.” He shut his eyes to concentrate on not coming and to will his body to open up. He relaxed under Daryl’s hands and mouth.

Daryl withdrew his fingers and gave one last suck to Paul’s cock before reaching for the condom and rolling it over himself. “You ready?” Daryl asked against Paul’s mouth.

Paul sank into the mattress. “Yes, please.” He felt open—and not just from Daryl’s fingers. He could feel his own vulnerability and for the first time in his life he wasn’t scared of it.

Daryl pressed his cock to Paul’s entrance. “That a’right?”

“Yes yes yes.”

“You sure?”

“Fuck yes, please, just—” he tilted his hips and Daryl pressed in, slow but sure, and when he slid all the way home Paul leaned up to kiss him.

Daryl humored him for a minute, holding himself still, and then broke the kiss to say, “Can’t concentrate on two things at once here, you gotta pick one.”

Paul hooked his ankles back around Daryl’s thighs and pulled him down again. He felt full, and he wanted to be overwhelmed again by Daryl’s presence. His smell, his taste, the feel of him inside. Paul licked into his mouth and felt Daryl’s hands under his shoulder blades and then gripping his shoulders from underneath, holding him still and secure. Safe. He dropped his head back onto the pillow and panted out, “Okay, now.”

Daryl drove his hips forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY - rebloggable post here: https://yessoupy.tumblr.com/post/183651177657/your-skin-makes-me-cry-13-a-desus-au


	14. Daryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter picks up right where 13 left off!

Daryl had been scared. That was what it all boiled down to in the end. He wasn’t scared of sex with Paul, not really—but instead he was scared that all the baggage he’d been carrying around was going to get in between them. His deep-seated fear that he didn’t talk to _anyone_ about was that he’d _already_ had his one shot at happiness. He’d had it and it was gone now and any attempt to try for it again was a level of arrogance beyond his own comprehension. That last physical step of making himself vulnerable to another man, to one he liked so much, to one he could see himself with down the road … he was scared he wouldn’t be able to help comparing them. Measuring his feelings for them up against each other, hung up on his past.

But none of that was happening. It couldn’t be further from his mind now that they were skin to skin and caught up in each other’s bodies.

Paul was a writhing mess underneath him, around him. His hair was sticking to his neck from their shared body heat. The quilt had been kicked off the end of the bed and they were spread out on the top sheet, Paul’s eyes bright and set off by the navy flannel sheet. He was making the most obscene noises, moaning and whining and panting out curses and Daryl’s own name. It was enough to make him want to come five strokes in, but he needed this to last. He wanted Paul like this forever.

He felt Paul’s hands grab onto his ass and pull him in closer. He took that for what it was and held himself in deep, Paul’s big eyes blinking up at him like he’d hung the stars up in the sky. Daryl could read the emotions there because it was like looking into a mirror. What he saw on Paul’s face was what he was feeling in his heart. “Ain’t nothin’ more I want than you.”

“You got me,” Paul whispered, echoing Daryl’s own words back at him. “Now c’mon. Wanna feel you.”

Daryl rocked his hips forward. “You sayin’ you don’t feel me now?”

“Wanna feel you _tomorrow_ ,” Paul groaned.

That lit something deep in his core. The thought of Paul out there in the world tomorrow, running weekend errands, _feeling_ where he’d been … “You sure you can handle it?” he challenged.

“God, yes.”

It was over quick after that, Paul’s heels digging into his ass as he held on tight. Daryl got a hand between them and took hold of Paul’s dick using that tight grip he knew Paul liked so much, and pretty soon he was shaking in his completion. Daryl stilled, stroking him through it and burying his face in Paul’s neck. Paul’s heaving breath was loud in his ear. “C’mon, babe. Keep going,” he panted, clutching at Daryl’s shoulders.

So Daryl did, hips jerking into the cradle of Paul’s hips a dozen more times before he followed Paul over the edge.

 

* * *

 

They were still afterward, quiet and comfortable. Paul laid next to him with his head on Daryl's chest, tracing patterns there as Daryl worked his fingers through Paul's hair. “Thank you,” Daryl said quietly, surprising himself.

“Not sure what you’re thanking me for, but you’re welcome.” Paul pushed himself up on one elbow to lean over Daryl. His hair was hanging down around them like a curtain separating them from everything else.

“Thanks for waitin’ on me. I know it’s been hard.”

Paul smiled. Even after all that, feeling him come from the inside and kissing him through his own orgasm, that smile made his stomach swoop. “Waiting was _hard_ , that’s true, but also totally worth it.” He flipped his hair over to one side and pressed his palm to Daryl’s cheek. “I get it.”

Daryl moved his head to press a kiss to Paul’s hand. “You do?”

“Loss is difficult. Everyone processes at their own pace, and the grief can come and go and maybe you see a therapist, maybe you just cry on your friends’ shoulders.”

“Did you see a therapist?”

Paul sighed and flopped onto his back. He picked up Daryl’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “I did. But not until I was an adult. I mean, I had a counselor when I was young but that was just like checking a box for them. I didn’t get much out of it.”

Daryl squeezed his hand. “I went to a grief counselor once.”

“Just once?”

“It was a couple months after. Rick made me go. I was going to work and not eating and when I got home I just got in our bed and cried until I passed out from exhaustion. Carol helped me find the counselor; she was on our insurance.”

“Did it help? The one session?”

Daryl shrugged. “I guess so. She told me to tell my friends that I needed help takin’ care of myself, and if that kept on more than three months at that rate that I would need some more help. Like medication or somethin’. That was good advice.”

“But you didn’t go back?”

“Didn’t feel like I needed to. I told Rick I needed help. They set up this schedule to bring me food and stocked the freezer. Couple times Rick stayed over. Locked up my guns at his place.”

“ _Jesus_ , Daryl.”

“It wasn’t—I was never gonna do that. Jesse woulda killed me. But Rick worried and it made him feel better. He’s always worried over me like a mother hen.”

“Rick sounds like a very good … friend.” When Daryl looked over at him Paul had his eyebrow raised. He rolled onto his side to look Daryl square in the face.

“You askin’ something?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

Daryl reached over to sweep Paul’s hair behind his shoulder. “Nah. We never did anything like that. He had Michonne. Wouldn’t ever want to fuck that up for him. Plus I wasn’t in no space to be screwin’ around with anyone. Not for awhile, anyway.”

“And if Michonne hadn’t been around?”

Daryl shrugged. “Maybe. He might have said yes, but not because he loved me or nothin’, not like that anyway, but just because he had a hard time sayin’ no to me when he thought I needed help.”

“That _is_ a good friend.” Paul looked like he wanted to burst out laughing.

“Don’t say nothin’—”

Paul rolled his eyes and crawled down the bed to fish the quilt up off the floor. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He motioned for Daryl to get under the sheet and then spread the quilt over both of them. Paul pulled him in close and hiked his leg up over Daryl’s hip. “Got a question.” Daryl nodded at him to go on, sliding his hand over Paul’s waist. “What are your plans for spring break?”

“Was just gonna hang around town. Was thinkin’ about goin’ camping for a couple nights, maybe. You?”

Paul had that look about him that Daryl only saw when he was about to ask something and he wasn’t sure Daryl was going to answer how he wanted. If they weren’t wrapped up in each other like they were Daryl was sure he’d be kneading his thumb into his other hand with his nerves. “I wanted to ask if I could just … stay with you. For the week.”

“That’d be good, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“We could go camping, you could take me out to the field to practice for your revenge plan—”

“ _Our_ revenge plan. We’re partners in this.”

“Alright, _our_ revenge plan. Anything else you want to do?”

Paul grinned and leaned in for a kiss, nipping at his bottom lip and pressing their naked bodies together under the sheets. “Wanna fuck you at some point. That okay?”

Daryl kissed him back, slid his hand down from his waist to his ass then up his thigh, slow, fingertips brushing over the fine hairs to hook his hand under Paul’s knee. That was a thought right there, wasn’t it? This man taking care of him, giving him more of what he wants, losing himself in how Daryl felt around him. It would be another avenue of wringing pleasure out of each other and it’d been so long since Daryl had that. “More’n okay,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😘 comments are adored and i genuinely do consider your thoughts when i'm writing future chapters! :)


	15. Paul

The last week before spring break passed with Paul feeling like he was on cloud nine. Nothing could bring him down: not more pressure from Braun about Calder, not getting prom duty dumped in his lap, not the twenty-five thousand steps he racked up each day chasing down his runners and trekking back and forth from attendance to the portable buildings. They’d been slacking on their technology mentoring activities lately so Paul had made time to observe one of Daryl’s lessons, acting as the cameraman to record a demonstration. Dutifully keeping his hands to himself after all the students were gone, Paul led Daryl through the process of uploading the lesson that Paul had recorded to the cloud. Had they been merely friends Paul might have laughed at how seriously Daryl was taking notes, but instead he felt an intense spike of fondness.

And a desire to have that intense focus on himself, not a computer program.

The moment school was out and he’d fulfilled his duties of shooing kids off campus, Paul high-tailed it out of the parking lot to get back to his apartment and pack for their camping trip. The thought of a weekend in nature with no other person but Daryl for miles and miles excited him. He was sure that Daryl’s supply list consisted of items necessary for their survival, like a tent and food and bedding. Paul’s list was _condoms, lube, baby wipes_. He threw his duffel bag in the truck and got to Daryl’s before dinner.

 

* * *

 

Daryl Dixon was a man of nature. He belonged out here, Paul decided, watching Daryl bustle around their camping spot. He’d cleared off the area for their tent and set it up, hauled out the firewood and got the fire going just as the chill of the evening started to set in. Paul had insisted on roasting hot dogs—this was his first ever camping trip and he was going to do it right—for supper so they’d made a meal of that and now sat with marshmallows stuck on the end of straightened-out wire hangers.

“Two kinds of people in the world,” Daryl said sardonically as Paul yanked his burning marshmallow out of the fire and watched the flames bubble the sugared cylinder for a few seconds. Daryl’s own marshmallow was hovering safely out of the reach of the fire and rotating at an even pace.

Paul blew out the fire on his marshmallow, leaning back in his folding chair. “I want melted sugar, and this is the quickest way to it.”

“It’s charred.”

Paul shrugged and wrapped his mouth around the marshmallow, pulling the layer of char off with the melted sugar underneath. “Still good,” he responded after swallowing. He stuck the rest of his marshmallow back into the fire. “See, I’ve already eaten half my marshmallow and you haven’t even had a taste.”

Daryl’s lips were on his in the next breath, tongue licking into his mouth to chase after the sugar. He was gone after a moment, attention back on his gently-browning marshmallow.

“That was smooth.”

“I got some moves.”

He laughed, marshmallow alight again. “You do. You got some good ones.”

Daryl pulled his marshmallow from the fire and tested its firmness with a pinch of his fingers. He put it back over the fire as Paul finished off his charred one. “Get another one on there, see how many you can eat before I’m done with this one.”

Paul liked a challenge.

 

* * *

 

Daryl had set up a couple of camping pads underneath the over-sized sleeping bag inside the tent. It was a firm sleeping surface, firmer than either Paul or Daryl’s beds, but comfortable nonetheless. Paul had stripped down to his boxers and gotten settled into their bedding. It was going to be a chilly night but they’d be snuggled up together in the sleeping bag once Daryl finished extinguishing the fire and securing the camp. Paul couldn’t wait.

Daryl shouldered his way into the tent and zipped it up behind himself before sitting down to remove his boots. It was going to take some time; he had to unwind the laces from around his legs. It had something to do with the bugs and keeping them out. “You need me to check you over for ticks?” he asked, half a smile on his face as he started working on his second boot.

“It’s not tick season, I looked it up before we came out here.”

“I’m impressed.”

“But you could check me over anyway. Inspect me. Feel every inch of me, make sure nothing got me?”

“You got a filthy mind, Rovia.”

Paul grinned. “You like it,” he teased.

Toeing off his loosened boots, Daryl stared him down still sporting that half-smile. “Yeah. I do.”

A rustling sound outside the tent caught Paul’s attention. All thoughts of Daryl _checking him for ticks_ was out the window as his mind ran through all the possibilities, none of them good. “What the fuck is that?”

Daryl snorted. “Calm down, city boy. Just a squirrel.”

“Fuck. What else is out there?”

“Bunnies, deer, bears—”

“ _Bears?!_ ”

“All our food’s sealed up tight, you got nothin’ to worry about.” Stripped down to his boxers and shirt, Daryl shuffled over to the makeshift bed and slipped into the sleeping bag with him, immediately pulling Paul into his arms. “You want me to go get that squirrel? Stew it up for ya?”

Paul made a face. He’d eaten the squirrel Daryl had brought back from his hunting trips but this was a little too close for comfort. He’d heard this critter running around outside. “No, you can let this one live.”

“Good. All I got’s my knives. Left the crossbow at home.”

“What if I’d said yes?” Paul snuggled in close and inhaled deeply. Daryl smelled like the outdoors, clean sweat, and the lingering sugar of the marshmallows they’d consumed.

“Might’ve taken longer but I’d’ve done it for you.”

He stroked his hand down Daryl’s arm and squeezed his biceps. “You know, I might actually survive the zombie apocalypse now.”

“What’s that?”

“I was pretty sure that I could hold my own for awhile on the self-defense front, but I was always worried about the _survival_ aspect of it. But now I’ve got you and I think I’ll be okay.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“You know, dead people walking around? Some disease comes through and people die and reanimate and all the infrastructure collapses and the human race gets to start over?”

“I know what zombies are supposed to be, you know that. That what you think about? What it’d look like if the world ended?”

“Yeah, it’s like a thought experiment. Enid had a lot to say about it when we did that photoshoot. What, you don’t?”

“My world already ended once, I know what it’s like.”

Paul winced. _Shit_. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Daryl squeezed him. “Not your fault.” They were quiet for awhile, Paul stewing a little in his misstep even with Daryl’s hand stroking over his back as a comfort. “But now I’m thinking about it, you think my crossbow would be a good weapon?”

“It’s quiet and the ammunition is reusable so yes.”

“What did you plan on using? I know how you feel about guns.”

That was easy. “My best weapon is my body.”

“Oh, is that right? You gonna seduce all the zombies to death?”

That image provoked a laugh out of Paul: shimmying up to a rotting corpse and batting his eyelashes at it. He pinched Daryl’s side in retaliation and that resulted in a close-quarters shuffle. If he wanted to he could certainly subdue Daryl, get him flat on his back with the other man’s wrists pinned down beside his head. But he didn’t want that. Tonight he wanted to be the one pinned down, and that’s what he got—Daryl on top of him, holding him down, looking at him soft and sweet and—a thought flitted through his mind. “Go to prom with me.”

Daryl squinted at him. “What?”

“I got assigned prom duty. You should volunteer and we could go together.”

“Like a date?”

“Yeah. Like a date.”

“An’ people would know we were there together?”

“I’d like if they did.” That was true, and might even be a line for him. He didn’t know what he’d do if Daryl didn’t want to be out with him. It was technically a work event, but Paul knew Glenn and Maggie had attended as a couple, even before they’d been married. That was before Paul knew them, but they’d told the stories. Walking into the venue with Daryl on his arm, both of them decked out in nice suits, maybe even matching … the more he thought about it the more he wanted it. The more he thought about it the more he knew he wouldn’t be able to go without it.

Daryl was biting his lip in thought. It made Paul nervous.

“If you’re not ready to be out—”

“It ain’t that. I don’t dance, babe. Don’t wanna disappoint you.”

Paul leaned up to kiss him, relief washing over him. “We don’t have to dance. I just want to spend that time with you, all dressed up, everyone knowing you’re there with _me_.” Disbelief covered Daryl’s face and Paul pulled his hips down on his own so Daryl could _feel_ how much he meant it.

“Don’t know what I did to deserve you bein’ Danny Johnson’s case manager.”

 _What a funny way of putting it_. “You’re a kind, gentle man willing to be open with your heart and protect me from all manner of wildlife. I don’t know what else I could ask for.” Daryl ducked his head to hide his face in Paul’s neck. Goosebumps rose on his arms with Daryl’s breath drifting across his skin. “Come on, babe. What do you say? Please?”

“Like the idea of bein’ yours.” Paul felt it more than heard it, the words spoken into his skin and settling in his stomach. “Bein’ yours and everyone knowin’ it … yeah, we could do that. Long as we don’t have to do any dancin’.”

“No dancing,” Paul promised.

With no other people for miles and miles, they took advantage of their outdoor privacy. Daryl flicked off the camping lamp to plunge the tent into darkness and they found their way around each other’s bodies by touch alone. Paul gasped into Daryl’s mouth and reveled in the closeness of him, let Daryl tempt shouts from his lungs and kiss the breath out of him. He wanted this still, and more, and every other way he could get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rebloggable post here: https://yessoupy.tumblr.com/post/183822729582/your-skin-makes-me-cry-1520-a-desus-au-paul


	16. Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they practice the revenge plan, and also check off another box on paul's spring break wish list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good LORD!!! this was a tough chapter. it's about twice as long as the average chapter to make up for that. posting schedule is out the window. bear with me, readers. please enjoy, and don't hesitate to let me know if that's the case. :)

Daryl didn't have many good memories from his childhood. Before, when Merle had gotten locked up for the first time and he'd met Jesse and they started getting close, he figured out through conversation that most of his few happy memories were less than that. Merle coming home and taking him to get McDonald's wasn't his big brother taking him out for a treat—it was a meet up, a drug drop, and Merle needed Daryl as cover. Daryl had plenty of happy memories out in the woods by himself, but the fact that he was too young to just be out there for hours and days at a time spoiled those as well.

But one happy memory that wasn't ever stained by his adult mind turning it over and over and realizing what he'd missed as a child was playing catch with his granddaddy. Daryl had his name tattooed over his heart. They'd always had a special connection because Daryl had gotten his middle name from his mama's daddy.

Papaw Norm had given him his uncle's old glove and taught him how to care for it and keep it supple. Daryl never got to go see a real baseball game as a kid, that idea so far out of the realm of possibility that it wasn't something he yearned for, but some nights he'd sit with his Papaw and listen to the game on the radio. Sometimes it was a professional game, sometimes a college game. Daryl didn't ever know the players, and it was something he had a hard time visualizing because he'd never seen it before, but he had those memories of sitting with Papaw sharpening knives just listening in quiet companionship.

He told Paul about this on the way to the practice field. Daryl had gotten a glove and a bucket of practice balls off Rick under the threat that if all them didn't come back he was going to have to submit to bringing Paul around for dinner that weekend. Daryl promised he'd shag all the balls, but he knew he'd take him up on the threatened offer anyway. Between Rick’s roasting and Michonne’s grilling they put a good meal on the table.

“You ever been up to see the Braves?” Paul asked, pulling into the parking lot.

“Few times, with Jesse. We tried to make it up once a season, make a trip out of it. It was less about the game and more about ... I dunno, feelin’ close to Papaw.”

The practice fields were empty this early in the morning. They hauled their gear out of the truck and made their way to the field that had similar dimensions to the high school's field. “They'll have the batting practice gate up for the derby, but we'll have to make due without it for practice.” They _could_ be practicing at the high school using the school’s equipment, but Paul's plan relied on Negan being ignorant of Paul's hustle. “I have a tendency to pull, though, so it's not likely I'll hit one right back to you.”

“Better not, dunno how fast my reflexes are. Never done this before.” Rick’s glove fit him well and gave him a little bit of confidence, but his nerves were nearly overrunning him.

“You're a quick learner, I have faith in you.” Paul pulled out a glove for himself and grabbed a ball from the practice bucket. “Let’s warm up that arm of yours.”

When Paul had picked him up that morning he’d nearly swallowed his tongue seeing what he had on. Hugging his ass and thighs were some well-fitting jeans and draped over his torso was a tank top that showed off his arms. Seeing all that in action was almost enough to have him miss a couple catches. But it was like riding a bike. The rhythm of playing catch came back to him quickly. Tossing the ball, the familiar _thwack_ of leather against leather. Taking a step back and repeating the process, Daryl and Paul stretched out the kinks and warmed up their shoulders.

It wasn’t long before they were too far apart to have an easy conversation. “Ready?” Paul called out, squeezing the ball in his glove.

Daryl shook out his arm and shrugged. It felt warm enough. “Guess so.”

Back at the patch of dirt serving as home plate, Paul pulled on his batting gloves and swung the bat to his shoulder. He tossed the ball they’d used to play catch and Daryl snagged it out of the air. “Just toss it in the strike zone here and I’ll jack it over the fence.”

It took a few throws to get the ball where Paul needed it, and then a few more after that for Paul to make contact, but once they got in the groove each ball leapt from Paul’s bat over the fence, or very close to it. Daryl learned real quick that he shouldn’t watch each ball off the bat. It was no time before the bucket was empty and his arm was starting to feel well-used.

“Your arm doing okay?”

“Yeah, feels fine.”

“That was forty-eight pitches. We need to find your limit today. As soon as it gets uncomfortable, let me know and we’ll stop.” Paul chipped the first ten balls his way. Daryl picked them up and dropped them into the bucket. “Let’s go past the fence, shag the rest.”

 

* * *

 

Paul’s motion was poetry. Daryl didn’t think he could get tired of the view. That was one reason he kept tossing the baseballs into the zone after his shoulder started twinging. The other reason was that he didn’t want to look _old_.

About halfway through their third bucket Paul called it quits, tossing his bat into the air after the last pitch went yard and jogging around the bases with his arm raised up, fist pumping as he grinned. Daryl smiled back at his peacocking and kneaded his sore shoulder with his opposite hand. He’d definitely overdone it. And if he could feel it _now_ , it was going to be even worse in a few hours. Paul himself looked just fine, even after all that swinging.

They went beyond the fence one more time to collect the baseballs. “We won’t need that many for the derby,” Paul assured him, tossing ball after ball into the bucket. He went on to explain the structure of the event, and the fact that Negan hadn’t ever hit more than fifty over the whole derby. “We have a good pitch-to-home-run conversion rate. And if I get lucky with the draw in the first rounds, we can minimize until the last round.” It was clear that Paul had thought this through. He had this revenge plan down to a science.

Daryl hefted the bucket of balls with his left hand and they made their way to the truck. Paul loaded their bags of gear into the bed while Daryl fired off a text to Rick. _Lost 2 balls, tell michonne we’ll be over this weekend._

They got on their way, Paul behind the wheel and Daryl sitting next to him in the sweetheart seat.

“Where are we going?” Paul asked, shifting into gear and getting them on their way.

“Your place. Change of scenery.”

“You need some ibuprofen? We can ice your shoulder, too, I have some ice packs.”

“Nah, I’m good.” But that was a lie. He was _not_ good. He’d pushed it too far, maybe by half a bucket. Like some fool kid trying to impress his crush Daryl had pushed right through every warning signal his body had been sending.

“You should take some anyway, _I_ need some, dig around in the glove box for me and shake me out three.”

Daryl rooted around in the glove box and found the little bottle of pills. He passed three on to Paul and washed four of his own down with a swig from Paul’s water bottle. Settling back into Paul’s side he draped his arm over the man’s shoulder and cupped his bare upper arm, skin soft and firm. He pressed a kiss to Paul’s temple. “What’ve you got in the fridge for dinner tonight?”

“You’re not cooking me dinner.”

“No?”

“I’m taking care of _you_ today,” he asserted, something in his voice hinting at more than just cooking him dinner. Paul shifted into fourth and left the gear shift alone to rest his hand high on Daryl’s thigh. Yeah, that was more than a hint.

 

* * *

 

He settled back on Paul’s bed while the younger man clattered around in the kitchen. The couple times he’d spent the night in the apartment Daryl had thrown close to ten pillows off the side of the bed before he could lie down. “How do you sleep in here without suffocatin’?” he’d groused. It wasn’t so bad now, he had to admit.

Paul rested the ice pack on his sore shoulder and got into the bed on the same side. “Here. Keep it on for twenty minutes.”

Daryl grunted and leaned back on the pillows he’d piled up. Twenty seconds in it felt like he was being stabbed by a million tiny needles. As he reached up to move the pack Paul’s hand darted out to grab his wrist. “No, sir. Give it another minute and it’ll be numb.”

“Don’t need the ice,” he tried, but Paul was having none of it.

“I saw you guarding.” Paul held his elbow in by his side to mimic Daryl’s own body language. “You need it.”

The ice wasn’t so bad once the numbness kicked in.

 

* * *

 

Fifteen years ago, Jesse had a lot to straighten him out about, so to speak. Growing up in Will Dixon’s house without any kind words spoken about people like him—his daddy had only ever sneered the words queer, gay, homosexual—had put just as much internalized homophobia as you could imagine into every fiber of Daryl’s being. It wasn’t until Merle was locked up that Jesse had wandered into his life and shown him the first thing about being who he was.

With someone there helping him pick out the good of his past from the whole mess of bad, he’d started on his self-acceptance. The last piece of the puzzle had been this here, lying under another man with every intention of letting him put his dick inside him. Letting him, and wanting it, and understanding what that meant and more importantly—what it didn’t mean.

In this act, Paul was nothing like Jesse and Daryl let the comparison stop there at comprehension. There would be time for investigating later, if the thought was still scratching at his brain, when he wasn’t being manhandled.

“Lie down here, like this.”

“Don’t want to, wanna—”

“I’m not _asking_.”

Paul had his eyebrow raised, and that little glint in his eye. Daryl played along. “This ‘cause of my shoulder?” Paul had him pinned down by his good arm and his other wrist, the weight of his body pressing him down into the too-soft mattress.

“Might be.”

He tested Paul’s hold and shifted his weight as much as he could. He wasn’t moving. “You gonna take care of me? Make sure it don’t get worse?”

“That’s my intention, but if you want to fight me on it—”

“No,” Daryl interrupted. He spread his legs a little more, the shorts he’d changed into riding up his thighs. The ice pack was melted and slushy somewhere off to the side of his head, soaking a cold, wet spot onto the sheets. “Come on, show me what you got.”

 

* * *

 

What Paul had was deft fingers, a hot mouth, and a whole lotta lube. All that conspired with his wild hair to prevent Daryl from being able to _see_ the pleasure he was feeling. His third annoyed, “let me see you” followed by an ineffectual swipe at Paul’s curtain of hair had Paul pulling his mouth off his cock and three fingers out of his ass. “I’m not putting this,” he held up his right hand, shiny with lube, “in my hair to pull it up. Give me two more minutes and—”

Daryl tried to reach out to the nightstand but Paul’s left hand was on him before he got two inches. “I’ll put it up, just get your rubber band over there for me.”

Paul let him get the hair tie and knelt between his legs as Daryl sat up, combing his fingers through the mess before quickly tying it back. Paul’s eyes were closed while he did it, whole body at ease while Daryl pulled his hair through the tie once, twice, three times.

He opened his eyes when Daryl was done. “You’re good at that.” Paul kissed him, quick and dirty, before pushing him back down against the mattress and getting back to the task at hand like he hadn’t been interrupted.

“Tell you why some time you aren’t doin’ _that_.” He could see now, could watch Paul’s mouth moving over his cock while he felt those fingers inside him, sliding in deeper with every pass. It was almost more than he could take. “C’mon, want you now.”

Paul moaned around him, fingers sliding out and hands reaching up to push Daryl’s thighs further apart. A moment later he let Daryl fall from his mouth and reached for the condom, lying next to the bottle of lube and nearly forgotten among the sheets. He made quick work of getting the latex on himself, smoothing more lube over himself as he kept his eyes on Daryl. “Are you comfortable?”

He nodded. “This is good, let’s go.”

“You sure?”

“You know I ain’t breakable. Give it to me.”

Before Daryl could get in another breath Paul was pushing into him, a slow, inexorable slide. “Oh, fuck yes.” He held himself there and closed his eyes, pressed up into Daryl as far as he could go.

Daryl _felt_ him, all over, from the tips of Paul’s hair slipping over his shoulder to brush against Daryl’s chest to Paul’s hand grazing up over his ribs and up his good arm to intertwine their fingers… “You feel fuckin’ amazing,” he groaned, clutching Paul’s hand.

“Shut up,” Paul hissed, hips stuttering and hand clenching tight.

Daryl swept his free hand down Paul’s side and on around to his ass, pulling him closer. “That an order?”

“That’s a ‘shut up or I’ll come before I get to fuck you like I want to.’”

“I make you feel that good?”

“ _Fuck_. You have no idea, do you?” Paul panted, pulling out all slow and gentle, making Daryl’s toes curl and his eyes squeeze shut when he thrust back in. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen, you lying here for me. You hear those sounds you’re making? Like you can’t help it, like what I’m doing is just what you need—”

“That’s right—” And it was, more than he’d thought it could be, a return to what he’d been denying himself, or maybe wasn’t ready to give himself, for all this time. He blinked open his eyes and Paul was right there. “You’re right,” he breathed.

“Shut up,” Paul repeated, eyes soft and full of something Daryl knew how to name.

“Shut me up,” he ordered, letting himself feel it instead of naming it, taking the moment for the rest of what it was—Paul inside him, finally, like the final piece in a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle he was afraid he’d lost pieces of. _That’s right_ , he thought, eyes rolling back as Paul took him in hand. _That’s right_.

 

* * *

 

Later, still in bed but with a now-empty pizza box set between them on the ruined sheets and a refreshed ice pack on his shoulder, Daryl let his gaze drag over Paul’s body. He’d cleaned them both up before ordering the pizza, but had shed his robe after it was delivered, eating straight from the box and naked as a jaybird.

“This was good.” Daryl wiped his hands and mouth on one of the paper towels Paul had brought in with the pizza. He dropped it into the box.

“It hits the spot, huh?” Paul winked at him. “See, I can take care of you, too.”

“You got to. I’m an old man.”

“I like taking care of you.” Paul closed up the box and tossed it onto the floor. “Also, you’re not old.” He checked the stopwatch app he had running on his phone and took the ice pack from Daryl’s shoulder.

“Sure I am. Almost ten years older than you.”

Paul scoffed and laid down, pulling Daryl down with him. “That doesn’t make you old. Old isn’t a number, babe. And even if it were, it wouldn’t be forty-four.”

“If old ain’t a number, what the hell is it?”

“It’s how you feel. What you can’t do anymore.”

“I _feel_ old,” he groused, smoothing his hand around Paul’s hip.

“You didn’t feel old when you got the whole campsite set up by yourself last weekend and then made me come so hard I almost blacked out. Or yesterday afternoon when you were fucking me through the mattress. Or just now, when you—”

“Alright, hush. I get the point.” They were sharing a pillow, all the other ninety-four pushed off the mattress and lying all over the floor. Daryl wondered if they’d fall asleep like this, breathing in each other’s air and he wondered if they’d stay close all night. He wanted to. There was something new about looking at him, cataloging all the angles of him that added up to what made him the man Daryl wanted to keep lying down next to. He still saw that soft something there in Paul’s eyes. “Paul,” he murmured, tightening his arm around Paul’s back and drawing him in closer.

Paul fit his body up against Daryl’s in reply, one hand hot like a brand on Daryl’s still-frozen shoulder while the other rested against his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. He pressed a kiss to Daryl’s jaw.

“I want more time with you.” It burst out of him, almost desperate. It wasn’t what he meant to name, but it was a response to that same impulse and _felt_ right, once it was out.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Paul said it like it was a promise he meant to keep.

“I mean—I don’t want you to stay here. When break’s over, I want you to stay with me. Move in with me.”

“Is that an order?”

Daryl blushed. “I’m askin’.”

“Last night when I was lying here alone all I could think about was how I could ask you to let me move in.”

“That a yes?”

“I want all the time with you I can get. Of course it’s a yes.”

—

Daryl hadn’t taken a lot of risks in the last decade. Maybe it took that long for him to be ready for this again, or maybe no one else was worth it. But each time he’d stepped close to the ledge with Paul, it’d been worth the potential hazard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a bit of a playlist going for this fic/dynamic. the two that end up on repeat are (of course) creep by radiohead and (maybe less obviously) iris by the goo goo dolls.
> 
> also please hmu at yessoupy if you see any errors in this chapter. i'll go in and edit if necessary.


	17. Paul

The first day back after a break was at its best kind of a drag. It started with not getting enough sleep for a school night—after nine whole days of waking without an alarm and staying up as late as he wanted his sleeping schedule was fucked. In addition, while his students were generally happy to get back into their routine, they’d rather their routine not involve at least one teacher and a handful of difficult classmates. He’d checked in on all his caseload during first period and worked with them during their segregation periods. The majority of them had had restful breaks with positive experiences but he had a couple who needed some extra attention. He could count the day a win, though—no elopements, no students standing on balconies, and he wasn’t even cursed out.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t _exhausted_. As soon as the halls were clear after the last bell he sprawled on his back in his office. He had peace and quiet for five minutes before the walkie-talkie at his hip crackled to life. _“Jesus Jesus Tara.”_

Paul groaned and brought the radio up to his mouth. “Jesus here.”

_“I’m bringing Calder your way.”_

“Copy that.” He wasn’t off duty yet. Paul didn’t move from his spot on the rug. When they arrived three minutes later, he motioned for Calder to take a seat in his office chair. “Thanks, Tara.”

“Have a good evening, Jesus.” She left, hollering down the hallway after the school nurse.

“Why are you on the floor?” Calder asked, typically direct. That was one of Calder’s traits that Paul found refreshing. There was no beating around the bush with this kid.

“When you get old your back starts to hurt.”

“The floor helps?”

“Marginally.” He craned his neck to get a look at Calder. “So tell me. What’s up? Why’d Ms. Chambler have to bring you over? You had a good day today.” Usually Tara meant trouble for one of his kids. She was school security, different from the police they had on campus, and was the one sent out to pick up kids from classes if they’d been caught breaking the rules.

“I asked her to. They wanted everyone out and if I tried to walk by myself I’d get caught.”

“That was good thinking, Calder.”

“I like Ms. Chambler. She’s nice.”

“Why did you need to see me?” Calder started to fidget so Paul averted his gaze to the ceiling. “Take your time. I’m not in a rush.”

“But it’s after school. Don’t you go home?”

“Not for a little while. I’m waiting for my … friend, and he has some things he needs to take care of first.”

Calder was silent for nearly a minute before he finally spoke. “I don’t want Ms. Lerner to come.”

Paul sighed. “I understand. I don’t want her to come here either, but she is and so we just have to make sure you’re prepared for her visit next week.”

“It’s not fair.”

“You’re right. It’s not at all fair.”

“Can’t you do something about it?”

Paul heard the anger rising in Calder’s voice. “There are three of us involved in this, Calder. You, me, and Ms. Lerner. I’m going to do everything I need to do to square things away with your teachers and make sure they understand what the observation is about. You and me are gonna work together the rest of this week in your segregation periods. You just have to do what you know how to do. Self-regulate. You’ve come so far this year and I know you have it in you. You can do this.”

“And Ms. Lerner?”

“She’s going to do her job. And it’s going to be fine.”

“What if Mrs. Braun—”

Paul patted the side of his shoe. “We’re not going to play the ‘What if?’ game. I’ll worry about Mrs. Braun. I’ll worry about everything else and you just worry about you. Okay? You want to practice anything?”

“No.”

“You got any other questions for me?”

“Can I stay here to meet your friend?”

“Sure. I know you have math homework, why don’t you get that out and work on it at my desk.” The zip of a backpack and shuffle of papers followed Paul’s suggestion and Paul closed his eyes to rest them. The custodian came and left and he heard everyone else in his little hallway close their doors and lock them before the familiar sound of Daryl’s steps echoed off the walls. “Hey, Calder, we have a visitor!” he said loud enough for Daryl to hear so he’d know Paul wasn’t alone.

“You alright?” Daryl asked once he got to the doorway. “What’s wrong? Why are you lyin’ on the floor like that?”

“His back hurts because he’s old,” Calder offered up. Daryl snorted and offered his hands to Paul. He let Daryl pull him up off the floor and winced, stretching his back under Daryl’s watchful gaze.

“Daryl, this is one of my students, Calder. Calder, this is Mr. Dixon.”

Daryl leaned forward around Paul to shake Calder’s hand. “Good to meet you, kid.”

The three of them made small talk while Calder packed up his bag. Calder expressed an interest in seeing Daryl’s bike one day and Daryl promised to let him know the next time he rode it to school. “Seems like a good kid,” Daryl remarked once he was out of earshot.

“He’s getting observed on Friday,” Paul admitted, finally letting Daryl in on what had been stressing him out for the weeks before break. “The county is coming in because Braun thinks he’s … unmanageable.”

“That what’s got your back all jacked up? Stress?”

Paul shrugged, lifting up his bag and settling it on his shoulder. “I guess so.”

“C’mon. Let’s go home, I’ll sort that out for ya.”

“Yeah?”

“Be my pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

The morning of the observation Paul woke up three hours before his alarm and just laid there under the weight of Daryl’s arm. He’d only gotten to sleep in the first place with a liberal application of Daryl’s hands to his knotted muscles—a daily remedy this week—and Daryl’s mouth distracting him from everything else. He knew that there wasn’t anything left to do in preparation. All he could do was just let the day unfold. He was optimistic when he was speaking to Calder, but that was only a show. Maggie Rhee’s maternity leave had shown just how fragile their progress had been and Paul _worried_. He was a hypocrite, all of the what-ifs parading through his mind even after he told Calder not to think about them. What if Mrs. Braun intervened? What if Maggie was absent? What if there was a fight in Calder’s class? What if, what if, _what if_.

Daryl’s arm tightened around his chest. “Go back to sleep,” Daryl murmured.

“Can’t.”

“Nothin’ you can do about it.”

“I know that, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Daryl shifted himself around and pulled Paul back against him, Paul’s back to Daryl’s chest. “Alright. Try to rest though, okay?”

It was a good distraction, Daryl’s body pressed tight against him and his breath hot against the back of Paul’s neck. He didn’t find sleep again, but he did find rest.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t like Dawn Lerner was a bad person. She did her job well, and she did it honestly, and she believed in it. It was only that what her job was seemed to Paul to be associated with blatant violations of federal law. Currently there was a lawsuit winding its way up through the courts dealing with the legality of the entire state program for emotionally and behaviorally disturbed students. Dawn Lerner was their county’s representative of this system, one which took students from comfortable environments to enroll them in schools that functioned more like jails. Calder didn’t belong in a place like that.

He was hailed over his radio when she arrived, and that started his day of walking her to each of Calder’s classes and standing outside the door, silently praying that no voices were raised. One class after the next she would exit five minutes before the bell and they’d walk to the next on the schedule, making small talk, Paul with a false smile on his face hoping she’d give something away. She didn’t, not until she re-routed them to his office instead of to Calder’s final class of the day. “I’ve seen enough,” she said when he’d looked at her curiously.

Within the privacy of his office, she gave her professional recommendation.

 

* * *

 

After a tearful meeting with Calder to end the day, Paul collapsed at his desk and let the exhaustion of the week hit him fully. He’d gotten out of having to update Braun when Lerner had taken that off his plate. A knock at the door brought him back to his senses and when he looked up, Daryl was there with a worried look on his face. “How’d it go?”

“He’s staying,” Paul said wearily.

A smile broke out across Daryl’s face and he stepped into the office and shut the door behind himself. “Paul, that’s great!”

“Lerner gave me her card after she told me what she’d decided. Said they could use me at the county school and she’s probably right, but I can’t imagine having a hand in that.”

“How’d Braun take it?”

“I don’t know. I’m probably on her shitlist. Lerner told me that from what she saw, calling her in had been inappropriate. Everything I’d been saying for all this time. It was a waste of Lerner’s time, having her come all the way out here.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Paul had a tendency to shrug off compliments and relegate any work-related praise to _I’m just doing my job_ but in this case, it was just what he needed to hear. “Thank you. I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Come on. Let’s get you home. We can pick up some dinner on the way and get you to bed early.”

Daryl drove them home—to Daryl’s house, slowly becoming more populated with the bits and pieces of Paul’s life that he was steadily bringing over from the apartment he had for another month. It was a beautiful day, something Paul could appreciate now that the weight of responsibility was off his shoulders. He’d call Dawn Lerner on Monday to let her know he wasn’t interested in making a career move, and start working on the transition paperwork for his two graduating seniors after that. Then it would be the home run derby, and then it would be prom, and then it would be the end of the school year and the prospect of summer break stretched out before him like months of freedom. He pressed up against Daryl’s side and threaded his fingers through Daryl’s. He couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a few chapters left! tying up some loose ends here (with paul's professional life) and next (with daryl's personal life) before we get on to the derby and prom. :) if any of you have been hoping to get a look at merle ... well, that's next!


	18. Daryl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for merle-typical language.

It was two weeks since Paul had moved in full-time. Two weeks of falling asleep with Paul in his arms and waking up with Paul’s hair tickling his nose. They’d been taking more meals together than not even before spring break, but it was _different_ now that there didn’t need to be a conversation about who was staying over where.

They had almost all of Paul’s stuff moved out of the apartment. Enid was staying there for the rest of his lease since living in a big old house closer to Atlanta with a bunch of other artist-types wasn’t doing the most for her creativity. They left the furniture behind for her and Paul was bringing over all his books one box at a time. “How many books you got?” he’d asked Paul that evening when he hauled in his fifth box in as many days.

“Oh, um… I have more, but—if it’s not alright—”

Daryl wanted to kick himself. Seemed like he kept putting his foot in his mouth when it came to this stuff. “Didn’t mean that. Just… if I’m gonna build a bookcase I gotta know how big. An’ how many.”

Paul bit his lip like he was trying to smother a smile as he set his box down by the rest of the books. “This is about half.”

Daryl let out a low whistle. “Alright, two bookshelves. Copy that.”

“You’re really going to make me bookshelves?”

“Course I am. I know how to do it and we need some now so give me a couple weeks and tell me which color wood you like and I’ll make you some bookshelves.”

The big smile spread across Paul’s face was worth every hour it was gonna take to make the furniture. “I think … something blond? That would look good in here.”

“That’d look real nice.” He could feel his own smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You are _so_ getting laid tonight.”

“I think that was gonna happen anyway.”

“ _Extra_ laid. However you want.”

Daryl shrugged. “Just want you, that’s all.”

That was the truth of it.

 

* * *

 

He woke up before dawn. His arm was asleep, trapped under Paul’s body. That must have been what woke him. He didn’t need to get moving for another hour. It was Saturday, and it was time for his monthly visit to the prison to see Merle, but he didn’t need to be thinking about his asshole brother yet.

Daryl freed his arm from underneath Paul in a slow, continuous move meant to keep Paul from waking. He didn’t get up after he was free, but stayed there on his side watching Paul sleep. The first couple of times he did this he felt like a creep, but then he woke up one morning to Paul’s eyes on him and found out it went both ways. It ain’t creepy if they’re both doing it. It was these moments when he got the most overwhelmed by the way Paul was making him feel.

Paul was … beautiful. He’d never met a man this damn pretty. Jesse had been handsome, that was true, but he’d had a kind of masculine energy that would have kept anyone from calling him pretty. Paul was different, though. Despite the beard he kept, his features were delicate, almost like a woman’s. That little upturned nose about did Daryl in.

Daryl watched as Paul stirred in his sleep and blinked open his eyes, bringing him back to the present. His head turned to face Daryl and he smiled, eyes slipping closed again. “Don’t go,” he murmured, already easing back under.

“Not for a little while,” Daryl promised. He reached for Paul and pulled him against his chest. “Keep sleepin’.”

 

* * *

 

Daryl always used the ride to the prison to separate himself from his everyday life. It made talking to his brother easier when he pretended he was different from who he really was. The longer he was happy with Paul the harder it was to create that division. He could use the extra time that a detour would afford him but he’d been late getting out of the house and it wasn’t like they took visitors in all day.

When he had Paul in front of him and the specter of Merle lurking at the edge of his consciousness, reminding him about who he used to be and who people thought he was before they tried getting to know him, there was a song that ran through his head on a loop. It was playing now, wiping out any progress he made on getting himself in the right headspace to be seeing his brother.

_You’re just like an angel_

Paul had sent him off from his knees at the door, a heady callback that left his mind fuzzy enough he almost rode the wrong direction out of the driveway.

_Your skin makes me cry_

He pulled into the visitor’s parking lot of the prison and guided his bike into his usual spot. It felt off being here with Paul still on his mind, their plans for batting practice looming after he got home from the prison.

Daryl signed in at the desk, emptied out his pockets, walked through the metal detector, and followed the guard to the visiting room where he took a seat at his usual table. They’d bring Merle out in anywhere from five to thirty minutes. The wait was on the shorter side this time. He spent only ten minutes sitting by himself before the CO brought out Merle. His broad grin was anything but happy, some kind of mockery of the emotion as he sat down across from Daryl.

“Hey _hey_ , baby brother! How you doin’?”

“Doin’ fine.”

“Been awhile since I seen you.”

“Been exactly as long as it always is. Was here last month.”

“Maybe it just feels like longer in the springtime. Days are getting longer.”

Daryl shrugged. He waited.

“Come on, tell me what it’s like on the outside.”

Daryl rolled his eyes but started talking anyway, like he always did. Told him about the hunting he’d been doing, bagging some rabbits and squirrels. Merle asked after the bike he was working on, so he told him about that, too. He didn’t say shit about school. He never talked about work and Merle never asked about it either. It wasn’t a sphere that Merle ever understood—having a job, having coworkers, making money steadily doing something other than selling drugs—so why would he ask about it? How could he ask about something he didn’t have the words for?

“Sounds like you’re doin’ good, Daryl. And you look—correct me if I’m wrong, brother, but you look like you got a glow about you. You got a lady? She givin’ it to you good?”

“No, Merle, I ain’t got a _lady_.”

“You can tell ol’ Merle. Don’t be shy, baby brother.”

An anger rose up in Daryl that he wasn’t expecting and socked him right in the chest. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“You know I ain’t got nothin’ in here, I’m just tryin’ to live a little. Live vicariously, if you will.”

Daryl knew then what he had to do. There was a reason he couldn’t put Paul out of his mind today. “You really wanna know? Ain’t no goin’ back. Ain’t no pretendin’.”

Merle leaned forward like Daryl was going to hand over some juicy gossip, his handcuffs clinking on the dirty table.

“Been teachin’ shop at a high school for fifteen years. I was married for two and a half of those, but I ain’t anymore. I’m seein’ someone, it’s real serious. We’re livin’ together now.”

“See? That ain’t so hard. Tell me about her. She a teacher too? Ooooo, you actin’ out on those high school fantasies of gettin’ nasty with your English teacher—”

“He’s a teacher, yeah,” Daryl interrupted, sitting back in his chair, consciously putting himself out of Merle’s reach. Merle was quiet, his eyes tracking over Daryl’s face. His brother wasn’t stupid, Daryl always knew Merle was probably too smart for his own good. There was confusion there, though, like Merle wasn’t able to square the last four words out of Daryl’s mouth with the whole rest of his life and every assumption he’d ever made. He’d joked about this for _decades_ but it was clear to Daryl now that Merle never thought it could be real.

When he finally spoke, it was just about exactly what Daryl was expecting, but it still sparked that anger in him again. “You sayin’ you a _fag_ , baby brother?”

“Man, why you gotta be so hateful—”

“Ain’t _hateful_ , just askin’ you a _question_!”

Daryl closed his eyes and tried to reign in his frustration. “I wrote a kid up a few months ago for usin’ that word. Ain’t a word we use in polite society, Merle.”

“Didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah, Merle. I’m gay.”

“I _knew_ leavin’ you behind was gonna fuck you up.”

“You gettin’ yourself put in here ain’t what made me gay. I always was. Always. Just couldn’t be until you got locked up.”

Merle leaned back in his own chair, jaw locked and eyes considering. They sat for long minutes staring at one another, playing chicken with history and expectations. Daryl was close to standing up and leaving when Merle finally spoke.

“So you got yourself a boyfriend, huh?”

Daryl released the breath he’d been holding. “Yeah.”

“Well tell me about ‘im. Who’d you trick into loving a Dixon?”

Daryl smiled and looked down at the table. “His name’s Paul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😍🚀


	19. Paul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's home run derby time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good LORD i am so sorry. i had the hardest time figuring out the structure of this chapter. the GOOD news is that once i DID figure it out, i finished it that same day! i hope this was worth the wait. 
> 
> also, warning for negan-typical homophobic language.

It was a beautiful day for baseball and Paul was nervous as fuck.

He drove Daryl’s fourth pitch into the infield dirt and watched it hug the foul line down past third base. An out. He’d stood in the box as Daryl’s first three pitches sailed in over the plate, right through the zone.

The fifth pitch he did manage to elevate, but not high enough to clear the fence. It bounced off the wall in left-center, and if they were playing a real game it would have been an easy double. But as it was, that counted as an out just like the grounder, and he had only three more of those to give before he was eliminated.

Daryl stepped off the mound toward him and knocked his sunglasses down his nose a little so Paul could see his eyes. That stare was a little bit _you got this_ and also _chill the fuck out_. Paul nodded at him. He had two minutes left to hit three home runs to make it out of the first round. Easy.

There was a fairly large crowd for a team fundraiser. The covered bleachers were a mix of baseball players and their girlfriends, students there to support their favorite teacher, and a smattering of family members. Paul himself had Glenn and Maggie up there with baby Hershel on her lap. Rick and his wife Michonne were there as well. It was a social event, a way for the baseball team to celebrate the end of the school year and the end of a successful baseball season. These people were either going to watch him flame out and think nothing of it, or witness the upset.

The sixth pitch floated right into his wheelhouse and he didn’t even think this time, just let go and swung through. He knew from the sound of the bat against the ball that it was gone. There was a noise from the bleachers, too, an audible “ohhhh” followed by a whispered hush, like everyone had been giving the field their divided attention and the sound of that home run had captured all of it.

The next two pitches joined the sixth and he was through to the final round.

 

* * *

 

The real trick to Paul’s grand revenge plan was the element of surprise. His nerves had helped to obscure his real ability in the first round, but the final round would require more actual production and would be more physically demanding. There were seven men who’d made it out of the first round and they’d each have five outs and four minutes to hit as many home runs as they could. The outs would run up on him quick if he got in a bad groove. The “random” draw put Paul right in the middle of the pack, with Negan, as expected, in the last slot.

He sat with Daryl and Maggie in the covered bleachers to wait for his turn. The first round had squeezed most of the nerves out of him but he still felt some lingering in him, manifesting in his inability to stop chattering.

Maggie passed Hershel off to him after the second competitor had wrapped up his turn with 10 home runs. “He’s a little furnace and I need to cool off for a minute or ten and _you_ need a distraction.” Hershel immediately cuddled up against Paul’s chest, working his pacifier in his mouth and pressing his forehead to Paul’s neck.

“Oh hey, buddy. Making yourself comfortable there, aren’t you?” Paul looked down at Hershel and inhaled deeply, catching the calming baby smell. He smiled through the nerves and started to relax. “Yeah, that’s the stuff,” he murmured, rubbing his palm over Hershel’s back. Paul felt eyes on him and turned his face to look at Daryl, his cheek resting against Hershel’s downy head. Daryl was indeed watching him, his sunglasses in his hands and a soft look on his face. “Hey,” Paul said quietly. The bleachers were full of people having their own conversations and cheering on their friends, but it was like he and Daryl (and Hershel) were in their own little bubble.

“Hey yourself.”

Early on in their time spent together Daryl had gotten embarrassed every time Paul had caught him staring. He’d look away, blush a little, try to play it off. “You’re allowed to stare at me,” Paul had said once over dinner. “I like it when your eyes are on me.” It’d still taken some time but Daryl was more open now, and didn’t look away. Paul could drink his fill when he caught the older man’s eyes on him. He _loved_ that.

A thought occurred to Paul as he stared back at Daryl, Hershel’s sleepy weight getting heavier in his arms. “You never asked me what it was that Negan said that made me want to do this.” Daryl had just so easily agreed to help, had humored him without thought.

Daryl shook his head. “Don’t matter.”

“You’ve put a lot of effort into this revenge plan for saying the impetus doesn’t matter.”

“Not like I’m not gettin’ anything outta this.”

“Oh yeah?”

He leaned over to whisper into Paul’s ear. “Y’look good in those tight pants.”

Paul laughed. “Hang onto that thought for later.”

There was a shriek from their right and Paul turned his head to see a little girl running at the bleachers full force with a big smile on her face. She looked to be about five years old and was stepping up the metal slats toward them before Paul realized they were her target.

“Uncle Daryl!” She launched herself onto Daryl who caught her in a big hug.

“Lil’ Asskicker, how you been?”

“Missed you, my Daryl.” She leaned back in his arms and Paul melted a little at how Daryl smoothed her hair from her face and tucked it back behind her ears.

A tall, willowy woman stood below them with her arms crossed over her chest. “Judith begged to come see you play. You alright with her?”

“Of course, Lori, she’s my girl. Aren’t you, sweetheart?” She nodded at him and wriggled in his lap as her mother wandered off. “Judith Grimes, I got someone I want you to meet.” He tipped his head toward Paul and she turned her head.

“The baby?” she asked, a note of confusion in her voice.

“The man holding the baby. This is Paul, darlin’.”

“Hi there, Judith. Nice to meet you.”

She smiled at him and leaned forward onto Daryl to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “Daryl is my uncle,” she informed him seriously.

“Is that right?”

She slid her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Yes, and I love him.”

“You’re gonna strangle me, baby girl, if you don’t ease up.”

Paul’s heart felt full watching Daryl interact with little Judith. It was obvious how much he loved her. It was in the way he held onto her so she could flail her arms around without falling, it was in his laugh as she told him a story and in his eyes as he watched her. It was in his gentle smile when she pulled a hair tie from her pocket and begged for a braid. Paul held Hershel against his chest and thought, watching as Daryl tenderly swept her hair back into a braid, _he’ll be an amazing father_.

 _Oh, shit_.

 

* * *

 

The final round was nothing like the first. They were in an immediate rhythm, Paul’s nerves out the window after the first pitch left his bat on its way easily over the fence. It was _fun_. They were such a good team, the two of them. Daryl was lobbing the easy pitches right where Paul needed them, the whole cycle taking eight seconds from one pitch to the next.

 _Fifteen_. Between pitches he let his eyes wander, quickly over Daryl’s chest, covered only by a dark blue tank top that had been doing something for his eyes when they’d stepped out of the house that morning.

 _Sixteen_. Over his right arm, sweat just starting to shine against his skin and highlighting his biceps.

 _Seventeen_. Over his neck, already glistening and reminding him of last night, Daryl’s head tipped back to expose it, shoulders pinned to the mattress while Paul took his pleasure.

 _Eighteen_. Over the rough goatee that had scraped against his inner thigh last week, the tender skin left behind a reminder of Daryl’s single-minded focus and endless patience for making Paul feel _good_.

When he knocked another pitch right through where the third baseman would be he admonished himself and focused on the ball leaving Daryl’s hand. _Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one_. They were easily past the best mark of the day, a solid fifteen.

When time was called only two pitches had just missed to leave him with twenty-six home runs.

 

* * *

 

Negan was last to go. Too anxious to sit, Paul and Daryl were standing behind the fencing that separated the field from the bleachers. Daryl was posted up with his hands caught in the chain-link above his head, weight resting on one leg. It was the hottest part of the day and Daryl’s shirt was dark with sweat.

“We got this,” Paul murmured, though he didn’t really feel it. He’d assumed he’d need a perfect round to have a shot, and that hadn’t been the case.

Negan swaggered up to the plate in front of them with his bat on his shoulder, peering into the stands. He hesitated for a moment, his face changing as he recognized their two forms in the shade from his position in the full sun. He bypassed home plate and came to the fence. He kept the bat on his shoulder, hands bare of batting gloves. Paul tipped up his chin. Daryl spat on the concrete.

“Just so we’re clear,” Negan sneered, voice low. “Enjoy your brief time in the lead because I’m not losing to a fag today.”

Daryl slid his arm over Paul’s shoulders. “You’re right about that,” he said, his voice surprising Paul. “You’re losing to two. Stop stallin’, jackass.”

A shadow of rage passed over Negan’s face before he schooled his features into an easy smirk. He tapped the fence with the head of the bat and backed away.

“Did you see that?” Paul asked as Negan was introduced over the PA system. _Our all-time champion, Coach Negan, defending his title. The mark to beat is twenty-six, held by Paul Rovia._

“He’s a fuckin’ sociopath,” Daryl responded. Negan settled into the batter’s box and Paul wrapped his arm around Daryl’s back, on-lookers be damned. Daryl pulled him in closer and pressed a kiss to the top of Paul’s head. “Proud of you, darlin’,” he said quietly.

 _Darlin’_. “It’s not over yet.” Negan’s bat cracked against his first pitch. _One._

“Don’t matter how it ends up. Proud of you, proud to be here by your side.”

 _Two_. Fuck, his stomach was a mess of nerves and his heart was beating out of his chest. “Thank you, babe. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

 _Three_. Daryl chuckled. “Listen to us over here, bein’ all sappy.”

 _Four_. “It’s that or melt into a puddle of nerves.”

 _Out_. Daryl squeezed his shoulder.

 _Five_. Rick strolled up to them, staking out a spot next to Daryl. “Saw he had somethin’ to say.”

 _Six_. “Nothin’ worse than his usual.”

 _Seven_. “If he doesn’t win, this ain’t gonna turn out well.”

 _Eight_. Paul leaned forward to get a look at Rick. “You here as protection?”

 _Nine_. “Somethin’ like that, yeah. More like a deterrent.”

 _Ten_. “I can take care of myself.”

 _Eleven_. “Oh, I ain’t worried about _you_. I’ve seen enough of what you can handle. It’s Daryl here that I’m worried about.”

 _Twelve_. Daryl scoffed. “Don’t gotta worry ‘bout me. Paul keeps me in line.”

 _Out_. With Rick laughing at Daryl’s statement of fact, Paul put his attention on the field. Negan’s pitcher was a stringy-haired blond assistant coach named Dwight. Paul had run into him a couple of times and didn’t think he was that bad a guy. _Thirteen_. But in the presence of Negan, Dwight transformed into a Grade A dick.

_Fourteen._

_Fifteen._

_Sixteen._

_Out._

_Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen_. “Pick up the pace!” Negan yelled at Dwight, the first sign that he was feeling the pressure.

“Goin’ as fast as I can, I’m not a robot!” Dwight yelled back, tossing a pitch toward the plate. _Crack. Twenty_.

“He’s nervous,” Paul muttered, leaning into Daryl’s side.

“He’s runnin’ out of time and panicking.”

 _Twenty-one_. “ _I_ didn’t panic.”

“Nah, you got nerves of steel and balls of brass. He’s got nothin’ on ya.”

Rick chuckled beside them and pushed off the fence. “You are two peas in a pod. Real glad you found each other. I’m gonna make my exit now before this gets,” he waved his hand around, “worse.”

_Out._

Paul slipped out from under Daryl’s arm and stepped up to the fence. Daryl moved behind him, his hands resting there on Paul’s waist. Between finally allowing himself to think he might actually _win_ and Daryl’s possessive grip, Paul was feeling a lot. He couldn’t put his finger on everything, but vindication, pride, and love were all there. _Love_ , he was _sure_ about that now.

_Twenty-two._

_Twenty-three._

The PA system crackled to life, “Ten seconds remaining—”

“C’mon, c’mon—”

 _Twenty-four_ —

“Fuck!” Negan yelled as the airhorn signaled the end of his time.

Paul was sure that the words coming from the PA were the announcement that he’d won, but he had other business to attend to. Daryl was lifting him up by his waist, shouting in celebration. Paul was quick to secure his position with his legs around Daryl’s waist, his arm raised in triumph as Negan threw his bat and hollered at Dwight, other coaches hurrying to prevent him from taking anything too far. Paul looked down at Daryl and saw his matching smile. There was only one thing he wanted to do here as the conquering hero evening up the score in his private battle: kiss his boyfriend.

Daryl’s grip on him tightened when Paul leaned down and pressed his mouth to Daryl’s. It was a quick, hard kiss, chaste for the audience and about a tenth of what Paul wished he could do in this moment.

“Guess we ain’t comin’ out at prom then huh?” Daryl set him down, still smiling and grabbing his hand to hold, raising it up like a boxer who’d won the match. Their friends converged on them then, Judith pulling on Daryl’s other hand to be picked up (he obliged), Rick and Glenn slapping them both on the back, Maggie off to the side to keep Hershel out of the fray. He took their congratulations, smiled and hugged and let himself be pulled onto the field for the trophy ceremony.

All through that, loading up the truck, discussing where to go for dinner with their friends, Paul had running through his mind the same three words over and over again.

_I love him. I love him. I love him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love you, thanks for sticking with me through this incredibly self-indulgent fic, just one more chapter to go. drop me a comment here or send me an ask on tumblr at yessoupy, i love hearing from you! what do you want out of prom??? (i mean, i have some ideas, and part of it i've had written for more than a year.... but you never know ......)


	20. Daryl & Paul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Finally!! Please enjoy. A longer-than-typical chapter to reward you for your patience.

_Daryl_

 

Paul had been living with him for almost two months but that didn’t matter to the butterflies in Daryl’s stomach as he got dressed. He’d seen Paul every which way by now, and he even knew exactly what Paul was wearing to the dance—he only had that one blue suit (though he’d gone and gotten a new pocket square when Daryl had made a comment about the grey one being boring)—and _god_ he was giddy thinking about how good he was gonna look.

Daryl was nearly ready. Paul had taken the first shower since he needed more time and had gotten ready out in the living room. “I want to preserve _some_ of the surprise I’d get if we weren’t living together,” he’d explained, like they were getting married or something, superstition keeping them from seeing each other until the moment they were at the altar. That thought sneaked in every once in awhile, that spending the rest of their lives together was an option on the table and Daryl couldn’t think about it for very long before he got overwhelmed.

Jesse’s watch lay on a porcelain dish on his dresser. Outside of the pictures he had up in the house, there weren’t many of Jesse’s actual belongings laying around. He’d had time to give away the things he really loved, and he’d insisted that his clothes be donated to a group home for gay kids. Daryl kept a couple of his shirts, the riding jacket, his wedding ring, and this watch. Every day Jesse’d worn that watch and at the end, he’d insisted that Daryl keep it and made him promise to wear it. He hadn’t worn it very often.

He lifted the watch out of the dish and gave himself a moment to miss him before fastening it around his wrist.

The final touch was his tie, brown to match his suit and the vest thingy Paul had picked out for him. His suit jacket was hanging in the closet. It was a little tight in the shoulders and he’d forgotten to take it to the tailor to get the seams let out or whatever they do to fix that. Paul thought he’d look fancy enough without the jacket anyway.

“You ready?” he hollered through the door, flipping the tail of his tie through the knot and adjusting it at his throat. Fuck, he hated ties. Always felt a little like he was being strangled.

“Will you come help me with my hair?”

Daryl smiled and opened the door. Paul was standing there right in his line of sight down the hallway. The late afternoon sunshine was gleaming off his black shoes, catching his eye. Daryl let his eyes rake up over him, especially appreciating how those pants hugged his thighs and ass. _Damn, I am one lucky man._

“Should I put it up or leave it down like this?”

Daryl stepped in front of Paul and considered. God, he smelled good, like Daryl’s Irish Spring soap and the spicy shampoo he favored. With his hair tied up in a knot, he’d have all of Paul’s neck and throat to look at, tempting him with all that skin just begging to be kissed. But down, like this in soft waves around his shoulders, trapping the scent of his skin, Daryl could lean in and—

“Looks good just like that.”

Paul rolled his eyes, smiling. “You _always_ say that. No matter how I’m wearing it, you always say it looks good just like that.”

Daryl shrugged. “You look good, all the time. However you are. Now, half an hour ago when you came outta the shower, after a training session at the gym… don’t matter. You always look good to me.”

“But which is _better_?”

“Down, I want to be able to lean in like this and—” he broke off and breathed in deeply, nose tucked in behind Paul’s ear. “Yeah.”

Paul turned his head and kissed him quickly. “Alright, you got it. Fuck, tonight’s gonna be torture.” He pressed his palms to Daryl’s chest, fingering the fabric of the vest. “Thank you for doing this with me.”

“Happy to.”

“I know it’s not your scene, all this formal wear and students after hours. It means a lot to me.”

He was saying it like walking into a room with Paul on his arm was some kind of chore. Despite all his confidence in his physical abilities—his martial arts, all that baseball stuff, everything they got up to in bed—he carried all kinds of insecurities when it came to relationships with other people. With no family to speak of and a string of men who never treated him right, it wasn’t any kind of surprise. Daryl’s heart hurt for him though, all those years this lovable man had gone without it. Daryl wanted to spend the rest of his life making up for that lapse in everyone else’s judgment. “Bein’ with you is always gonna be my scene.”

A smile spread across Paul’s face and his eyes lit up like Daryl had handed him a million dollars. “Always?”

“You wanna know what my first instinct was when I met you?” he asked, sliding his hands around Paul’s waist to hold him in close. Paul kept his own hands there on his chest, only the pressure letting Daryl know he was there through the layers he was wearing. “I wanted to protect you. And before you get all ‘I can take care of myself’ about it, I know that. That instinct ain’t about doin’ somethin’ for you that you cain’t do yourself, it’s about doin’ something for you so you don’t _have_ to do it for yourself. I wanna keep doin’ that for as long as you’ll have me. Always, I’m hopin’.” He tucked Paul’s hair behind his ear and rested his hand there on his neck. “You gotta know I love ya.”

Paul blinked up at him, mouth hanging open in something like surprise. “You love me?”

“’Course I do. You comin’ into my life was the best thing that coulda happened to me. Figured I was bein’ pretty obvious about it, askin’ you to move in an’ all.” Daryl pulled Paul in around his shoulders and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“No one’s ever—no one’s ever said—I mean, not since I was a kid, and even then they didn’t act like it.”

Daryl’s chest ached and he pulled him in closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I shoulda known you needed that.” _Should have told him the second I felt it. Should have_ told _him every day_. “I love you, Paul Rovia. An’ it’s okay if you don’t—”

Paul cut him off, shaking his head. “I should have—I love you. I’m in love with you. I knew at the derby, but I—I haven’t ever been able to trust my own judgment, but then I _knew_ it and I just couldn’t figure out how to say it to you. Thank you. For saying it first, I mean. God, I’m fucking this up—”

Daryl gave him a soft kiss this time, no rush, just enough to stop his babbling and settle him down. “Nah, you’re not fuckin’ up anythin’, baby.”

 

* * *

_Paul_

 

He’d been excited for the prom, really. He’d been looking forward to seeing all the kids dressed up and smiling, practicing being adults under the protective watch of the chaperones they’d known for four years. He was, really. But now Daryl was saying he loved him and he was calling him baby and all Paul wanted to do was take Daryl back to bed. Fuck his responsibilities, fuck his promises, he just wanted Daryl. Wanted him close, skin to skin, wanted him inside, stealing his breath away. He leaned into Daryl’s embrace and inhaled his scent, clean and masculine with a spicy aftershave. “I _want_ you,” he murmured into Daryl’s ear. He let his mind run off to imagine if they _did_ just call in sick, what it was going to be like to have him _knowing_ that Daryl loved him, that Daryl knew Paul loved him back. _God_.

Daryl chuckled and leaned back. “Gonna have to hold that thought. We got a job to do.”

“Can we take the bike at least?”

“Nah, we’re not fuckin’ around with boots and helmets. Plus I don’t wanna worry about our nice clothes gettin’ dirty.” Daryl disentangled himself from Paul and stepped away. “C’mon, don’t wanna be late.”

“But Daryl—”

“You’re actin’ like you don’t always slide over an’ sit sweetheart when I’m drivin’ anyway.” Daryl picked up the keys from the hook by the door and swung them around his index finger.

Paul pouted. “It’s not the same.”

“Oh, you wanna rub your dick against my ass, that it? Horndog. You’re gonna have to wait on that.”

“Babe—”

“Don’t think you can sweet talk me, darlin’. You got everything? Let’s get.”

Paul shrugged on his suit jacket and relented.

The venue was up in Peachtree City, less than half an hour, even driving the speed limit and taking the long way. Paul sat right up next to Daryl, just like they both knew he would, their thighs pressed together and his left hand holding onto Daryl’s leg just above his knee. He’d tried to ease his hand further up but Daryl wasn’t having it. “Behave yourself, Rovia.” Eventually he got his hand held for his trouble.

Paul wasn’t thinking about prom, their first-shift check-in duty or anything he might have to break up—fights, drinking, drugs, kids getting off with each other on the dance floor or in the bathrooms. He wasn’t thinking ahead to the end of the school year, that goal line he’d been chasing now for months. His thoughts were ping-ponging around. Now that he _knew_ he could _imagine_ , he imagined it all. A vegetable garden, a dog, maybe an addition to the house. They’d need that. Maybe.

One day.

Hopefully.

His mind got stuck there and he squirmed, hanging onto Daryl’s hand a little harder. He looked up at Daryl’s profile and tried to unstick his thoughts. He needed to enjoy _this_ moment, not start worrying about future conversations that might not come to pass. Or future conversations that might disappoint him, force him to re-evaluate what he thought he wanted so that could fit into the life he had.

“What’s on your mind? You been too quiet.”

He should have known that Daryl would pick up on it. “Just thinking,” he hedged.

“No shit. ‘Bout what?”

Paul trained his eyes back on the road. _Fuck it, let’s go all in_. “You’re so good with Judith and baby Hershel.” It wasn’t even a question, let alone the one he meant to ask, but it was safe.

“Love Judith like she’s my own. And Hershel’s a good baby, he’s easy.” Daryl squeezed his hand.

“Would you want your own?” Paul said quickly.

Daryl was slow to answer. “Jesse and me talked about it, once,” he responded after a long moment of silence. “Even called a couple agencies, thinkin’ at the very least we could foster but it was different times for people like us. But I never had any kinda need to have a kid with Dixon blood, if that’s what you’re asking. You?”

Paul blinked rapidly, his vision blurring for a moment as he willed back the moisture gathering there. “I always wanted to adopt.” Twelve years old, helping the younger kids in the group home get ready for school, telling himself he was practicing for when he got a family, new parents and siblings of his own. Seventeen and beyond hopeless, like he’d lost the ability to think anything good could come his way after that many years with no one picking him. “I think … older kids. Teens, even. Kids like I was.”

Daryl picked their hands up and pressed a kiss to the back of Paul’s. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

Daryl released his hand to downshift. They were nearly to the venue. “Sounds like we’re on the same page there.”

Paul wiped at his eyes and pressed a kiss to Daryl’s shoulder. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Paul hadn’t been on the planning committee but he’d heard enough about it second-hand from Maggie—Glenn was the counselor on the committee—to know that a lot of effort had gone into this event. There’d been multiple fundraisers to keep ticket prices affordable for the kids and the committee had invested some serious time into making the place look special.

The theme was Old Hollywood, something he explained to Daryl as they walked into the lobby. Paul took the lead in getting them settled at their duty stations with their packets of names and highlighters. The banter came easy to him, checking the boys’ IDs and highlighting their names on the list. He smiled up at the boys in their best clothes, asked after their dates, and made the appropriate comments when they were pointed out. “Oh she’s beautiful. Now make sure you tell her that.” Daryl was more efficient with his interactions, speeding through the line of boys in front of him. A few stopped to chat after the line died down, shop students who teased him for his nice clothes which were leagues apart from the utilitarian jeans and shirts he wore every other time they’d seen him. “Who you tryin’ to impress, Mr. D.?” one of them asked, grin wide and bright.

Daryl reached out and squeezed Paul’s shoulder, eyes turned on him full of humor. “Well, Collin, I’m always tryin’ to look good for Mr. Rovia here.”

Collin guffawed. “Oh no shit?”

The others chimed in:

“Okay okay. That’s cool.”

“Man, I _told_ you somethin’ was up!”

“For real, Mr. D.? You’re not just fuckin’ with us?”

“Wouldn’t joke about somethin’ like that, you know that. Alright boys, get goin’. Don’t leave the ladies to dance by themselves.”

“Have a good night, Mr. D.!”

“Y’all be safe and don’t make me have to call your mamas tonight.”

They laughed, heading off, and Daryl watched them go. Paul gave him a quick squeeze to his thigh under the table, awaiting the next wave of students. “You are so hot, Daryl Dixon, I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands to myself until our shift is over.”

Daryl looked down pointedly at his lap and Paul laughed, withdrawing his hand. When their relief showed up an hour later, Paul cornered the photographer and gathered up their crew for cheesy prom pictures on the red carpet set up outside the ballroom. Daryl stood in the middle and let everyone shuffle around him in different permutations. “One more, just you and me,” Paul begged once everyone else was finished.

“Alright, c’mere then.” Daryl manhandled him into position with Paul laughing the whole way, his heart full. Paul stood in front with Daryl’s arms around him, his own hands resting on Daryl’s. The photographer was smiling at them. Paul looked back to see if Daryl was smiling too, and he was, one of those rare full grins. Then it was _finally time_ and Paul moved to head toward the door, eager to leave and go home and take Daryl out of those fine clothes, let Daryl strip him down, and ...

“Hold on, Paul.” Daryl took his hand and pulled him toward the ballroom. “C’mon.” Daryl guided Paul around the back of the ballroom to the far side of the dance floor, a familiar tune flooding out from the speakers. The dance floor was clearing out since the song was older than some of the teachers in the math department, but there were other chaperone couples taking advantage of the moment so they weren’t alone. “Are we dancing?”

“Asked for somethin’ special for you.” Daryl rested his hands on Paul’s hips and he could feel the warmth of them, even through his waistcoat. He slid his hands up to Daryl’s shoulders. _When you were here before_.

“I have to admit, I’m kind of surprised,” Paul said. “Did you pay the DJ to play this and confuse the youth?” _Couldn’t look you in the eye_.

Daryl looked over his shoulder where the tables were filling up with sweaty students. “They don’t look confused, probably grateful for a break.” _You’re just like an angel_.

“Why this song?” He did like it, but it wasn’t one that they’d listened to together, or one he’d talked about before. _Your skin makes me cry_.

Daryl squeezed Paul’s hips. “For awhile it’s been what comes to mind when I’m alone, thinkin’ about you. Happened a lot when I was goin’ to see my brother, facin’ up to who he was and what I came from, squarin’ that with havin’ you in my life.”

Paul’s heart hurt at that. “Daryl, you _are_ special—”

“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout a _literal_ interpretation of every line. Don’t worry about my self-esteem, darlin’. More like, you’re special. And I wanna make sure you got everything you need.” _Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want_. “That’s all.”

He leaned up to press a quick kiss against Daryl’s mouth. “Thank you. You make me happy. Just being here with me.” Paul didn’t take his eyes off Daryl’s as they swayed to the beat. His face hurt from the smile across his face and he was _giddy_. He hadn't gone to prom when he was in high school. When he'd told his kids they'd been shocked, and he realized that it really was different these days. Paul hadn't had many friends, and asking a random girl to go with him as a cover hadn’t even crossed his mind. Truth be told, he hadn't felt like it was something he needed to do. What was the point? To sit by himself at a table?

So this was his first prom, and he had a _date_. Not just any date, either—the best man he'd ever met. Everyone who looked at them knew that Daryl was there with _him_. He wished that he could tell the scrawny, lonely Paul from his high school years that this was in his future. He’d have been saved a lot of heartache.

The song ended, the last strains of it replaced by an Usher song nearly as old but much closer to what high schoolers liked. “You ready to get outta here? Or you wanna hang around some more?”

Paul leaned up to speak directly into Daryl’s ear, jostled by the kids returning to the floor. “I want to take you home and take you out of those clothes and take you deep—”

Daryl jerked his head back and angled them off the dance floor, taking his hand and pulling him past the emptied tables. He didn’t look back at him until they got to the truck, pressing Paul up against the side of it and taking his face in his hands. “Gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

“Like my plan?”

Daryl kissed him then, hard and quick. “Get in. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

_Daryl_

 

Home.

Daryl had bought the house when he finally felt like a whole person again. But that’s all it’d been, just a house. A place he spent his time when he wasn’t at work. A place to store his bikes, to hole up in for the few days every winter when it got real cold. A place to cook and eat and feel comfortable and safe. Carol had spent a few weeks with him once, before the zookeeper came into the picture, and Rick. Rick more than once, and on a couple of occasions he kept Rick’s kids over, their favorite babysitter. That was as close as it’d gotten to feeling like home, a sleepy teenage Carl at the kitchen table, sulking that his parents wouldn’t let him stay at his own house without supervision, but grudgingly grateful he wasn’t left to care for his baby sister.

But now his house was _home_.

They were in _their_ bed, their fancy clothes draped over the back of the chair in the corner. They’d taken each other out of their clothes piece by piece with the desperation of the ride home—Paul’s mouth on his neck, his hand drifting dangerously close to Daryl’s dick enough times that Daryl had ordered him to the passenger’s seat—replaced by a new … patience. He was in no rush—he felt like he had forever tonight. Paul’s hands were quiet, too, both of them taking their time. Lying together on the bed, kisses deep and wet, Daryl’s fevered blood had fallen to a low simmer. He was hard, and so was Paul, but the press of Paul’s dick against his own was more a steady presence than an insistence to move.

Wanting to feel more of him like this, Daryl reached down to haul Paul’s leg over his own hip. Paul liked it when Daryl grabbed him like this. Liked him possessive. Daryl just wanted him as close as possible, hot skin on his and their sweat starting to mingle. Like he’d accidentally knocked the burner’s setting up a few notches, Paul pushed Daryl onto his back to settle on top of him. Daryl shivered as Paul’s breath drifted across a new damp patch of skin across his collarbones. He groaned. He felt it now, _needed_ him. Something was different, made it feel _more_.

“What do you want?” Paul’s voice was low and hot. He was in control and Daryl was losing it. Thinking about every option at his fingertips was almost more than he could take.

He slid his hand over Paul’s hip and across his ass, digging his fingers into the smooth flesh there. “Inside you,” he breathed, squeezing. “Wanna be inside you.” He wanted what Paul had promised out there on the dance floor. Paul was sitting up now, pouring lube over Daryl’s hand on his ass and undoubtedly making a mess. They’d change the sheets later, they’d buy _new_ sheets, maybe fancy ones they would pick out together— “Wanna kiss you,” Paul breathed out against his neck in hot bursts as Daryl traced a slick finger around Paul’s entrance, teasing on purpose, enjoying the process of working him up to the point of begging. Daryl reached his other hand around Paul’s back, hauled him up close, swallowed his whimpers and kissed him deep as he pressed two fingers inside.

As much as Paul liked his fingers, that wasn’t going to be enough for either of them tonight. He was quick in this task, sliding his fingers in deep as Paul rocked against him, dragging their cocks together in his impatience. “C’mon,” Paul urged, sweeping his hair over one shoulder and sitting up. “This is how I want you. Okay?”

“More’n okay, _jesus_.” He pulled up his knees as Paul leaned over again, this time for the condom. He made a pretty picture sitting there on Daryl’s hips. His strong thighs took the weight of his body enough to keep Daryl comfortable. Daryl’s hard cock was resting against Paul’s ass, so close, and Paul could sheath him blind, or maybe he’d scoot back a little so he could see, sometimes he did that and then used his mouth for a second—

Paul was fingering the condom packet with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think?”

God, wasn’t it _obvious?_ “I’m thinking I want you to ride me real hard—”

He rolled those big eyes of his, almost like a cartoon character in his exaggeration. “No kidding.” He waved the little packet around. “You want this?”

Daryl’s mind blinkered back on. They’d talked about this before, a few weeks ago, deciding at that time—the end of the school year nearing, exhaustion their ever-present companion—that it was worth it for cleanup purposes to keep using them even though they didn’t need to with their clean bills of health. Every ounce of sleep was valuable, and any shortcuts they could take while getting off, they took. But tonight was different. Tonight felt like the rest of their lives, a long timeless stretch ahead of them. “Only if you do,” he decided.

Paul tossed the packet over his shoulder and picked up the lube again, reaching behind himself to slick it down Daryl’s bare cock. “Don’t you dare think about pulling out, either,” Paul ordered, grabbing the base of Daryl’s dick maybe a little too hard, but Daryl didn’t complain. It’d be a shame to come from Paul’s words and his slick hand when his warm, tight heat was on offer.

“Stop teasin’ an’ ride me,” was Daryl’s demand in turn.

 

* * *

 

_Paul_

 

Much of the difference in fucking without a condom, at least for Paul, was psychological. Also psychological was how much closer he felt to Daryl _now_ , like he knew his heart wholly and could finally just … let go. He’d thought he’d been _letting go_ before, would have always described himself as an enthusiastic and adventurous lover, but he hadn’t known better then. It was like a filter he didn’t even know existed had been removed. He knew this now, implicitly, as he eased himself down on Daryl’s glorious cock, breathing out, “ _Fuck_ I love you, you feel _so good, fuck_.” He paused, reached for Daryl’s hands to hold and used his strength for balance. The part of his mind not occupied with forcing himself to make his descent slow was appreciating Daryl’s biceps, muscles standing out as he took Paul’s weight. “You okay?” Paul panted, easing down further.

“Doin’ fuckin’ amazing. I got you, take your time.”

He did, finally settling after another minute. He released Daryl’s hands and ran his own over Daryl’s heaving chest instead. Fuck, there was so much of him—under his hands, inside of him. He shifted, moaned a little at the stretch, the feeling of _full_ that radiated out from his core. “It’s like you were made for me,” he breathed out, rocking forward and back, small movements, eyes locked on Daryl’s. “Is this good? For you?”

“Baby, you’re always good for me.”

Always. The praise flashed through him like an extra point of pleasure. He shoved back on Daryl a little harder and drank in his groans. “Touch me,” he begged, leaning forward and bracing his hands on the bed above Daryl’s shoulders.

Daryl’s hands don’t go to his cock, one slipping up his stomach to his chest instead, thumbing over his nipple. He shivered. The other skated back around his thigh to his ass, palming him, fingers reaching— “ _More._ ”

It was a rush from there, a dam broken by the heat in Daryl’s gaze as he touched where they were connected. His rough fingertips lit him on fire and he rocked harder, pulling those pleasured sounds from Daryl’s lungs. God it was so hot to feel this man come apart under him, to feel him lose control, to have him at his physical mercy, to say “ _You’re mine,_ ” and hear “ _Yes,_ ” and think, _always_.

Daryl pulled him down and kissed him, messy and wet. Paul gasped, his cock trapped between their stomachs. “Harder,” he begged, and Daryl obliged. Paul was on top of him but he still felt surrounded, Daryl’s arm wrapped around his back and his other hand hooked under his thigh. He propped himself up on his forearms and gasped down at Daryl with each shove of his cock right across his prostate, exactly how he needed him.

“That good, baby? ‘M I givin’ you what you need?”

He moaned in the affirmative and bowed his back to get his hand on his own cock. “Perfect, just like that.”

“You still want me to—”

“Please please please,” he whined, pushing himself closer. “I’m close, can you just—”

Daryl kissed him, held him, jerked his cock and came inside him. Paul spilled between them as his own orgasm crashed through him, heightened by the knowledge that nothing was between them now. “Love you love you love you,” he chanted, collapsing there on Daryl’s chest as those arms came up around him.

 

* * *

 

_Daryl_

 

There was a lot left to do.

Transition ARDs for Paul, graduation duty for the both of them, deciding what to do about the apartment and the rest of Paul’s furniture…. On top of all of that, Daryl’s next visit with Merle was coming up and he wanted to ask Paul to come along. He knew he’d say yes, wasn’t worried about being blown off, but he still wasn’t sure how Merle would take to a man sitting there next to Daryl as more than friends.

The apartment was a looming nuisance. Paul had been beating himself up over it, asking, “Why’d I sign a lease that ended the last week of school?”

“Probably weren’t thinkin’ you were gonna move into the shop teacher’s house instead of just signin’ on for another year.” He’d said it over dinner, matter-of-fact, scraping the last bite of Paul’s very 1950’s housewife casserole off the plate. It was good, like anything else with that much cheese just had to be. It was better because Paul had made it for him.

Daryl shut his eyes against the bright morning light. Paul probably had a point about the blackout curtains. Now that he wasn’t getting out of bed as soon as he woke up he could see the benefit of them.

Paul was still sleeping, body tucked in close to Daryl’s chest, sharing the same pillow. Daryl wasn’t ready to leave him, not even to make him breakfast to eat from bed. He put their to-do list out of his mind and tightened his hold around Paul’s naked waist. _Later_ , he thought. _Now_ he was content with just this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for leaving kudos. Please let me know what you think of the final chapter! a rebloggable post (INCLUDING PICTURES) is here: https://yessoupy.tumblr.com/post/187521831867/your-skin-makes-me-cry-fin-your-skin-makes-me
> 
> Thank you to both my betas -- C, for the beginning, encouraging me as you always have, and spotting every early typo. H, for helping me through the TOUGHEST PARTS and ultimately seeing it through with me. Neither of you are in this fandom and you've helped me to contribute to it anyway. <3

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are much appreciated. you can find me on tumblr at yessoupy -- feel free to message or send an ask there as well! my tag for this fic is _desus teacher au_.


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